THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


THE 


PLEASURES  OF  HOME 


AND 


OTHER     POEMS. 


BY 

DAVID   NEWPORT. 


PHILADELPHIA: 

J.    B.    LIPPINCOTT    &    CO. 

1884. 


Copyright ,  1884,  by  DAVID  NEWPORT. 


PREFACE. 


THE  major  part  of  these  poems  have  been  published  here- 
tofore ;  they  now  constitute  one  volume. 

Poetry  is  said  to  be  a  criticism  of  Life,  and  all  true  criti- 
cism means  recompense  or  adjustment. 

If  any  sentiment  in  this  volume  shall  tend,  in  any  mind, 
toward  a  recompense  and  right  adjustment  of  life,  the  object 
of  the  author  of  this  book  will  have  been  attained. 

D.  N. 

ABINGTON,  PENNSYLVANIA,  sth  Mo.  ist,  1884. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGB 

To  AN  AGNOSTIC  FRIEND * 

THE  PLEASURES  OF  HOME I2 

THE  OLD  SENATE  CHAMBER 46 

WILLIAM  PENN'S  HOLY  EXPERIMENT $1 

AT  OCEAN'S  SIDE 76 

NATURE'S  TEACHING ^ 

To  ELLEN  H.  PAUL g2 

THE  "  BOSTON" — A  WIFE'S  VISION 84 

THE  LIGHT  OF  LIFE      ...  .  ,86 

THIS  is  NO  DEATH 88 

To  M.  AND  R. 


9° 

To  THE  COMET  OF  1882 


LINCOLN  AND  LIBERTY .91 


93 

LINES .9? 

NOVEMBER'S  IDES .96 

To  THE  MEMORY  OF  C.  HOWARD  COMLY    ...'..    98 


TO    AN    AGNOSTIC    FRIEND. 

AND  thou  dost  not  know  high  heaven  is  good  ? 

How  strange  !     'Tis  my  daily  food. 

How  clear  that  human  mind  was  made  to  know, 

To  know  and  feel  the  overflow 

Of  graciousness  from  Fountain  source  ! 

How  wondrous  strange,  then,  this  divorce 

Of  consciousness  from  depth  of  feeling, 

And  Reason  from  Truth's  high  revealing  ! 

As  starlight  from  yon  distant  orb 

Moves  through  ethereal  realms  superb, 

So  light  supernal  doth  illuminate 

The  human  mind  and  heart  and  permeate 

Man's  being.     And  thou  dost  not  know 

The  Hand  that  doth  thus  graciously  bestow 

These  marvels  seen  in  sunlight  and  in  star, 

These  harmonies  which  pulsate  without  a  jar 

Throughout  the  realms  of  thought  divine  ? 

Infinite  and  eternal,  they  doth  incline 

The  list'ning  ear  and  heark'ning  sense 

To  highest,  holiest  eminence, — 

To  Mount  of  Vision,  where  transcendent  shine 

Those  virtues  which  by  tentative  design 

Transfigure  garments  white  with  light 

And  beauty.     Oh,  these  should  be  thy  heart's  delight ! 

And  thou  dost  not  know  and  feel  the  eminence 

Of  Man  ?     Thou  hast  no  evidence 

Of  immortality  ? — of  life  beyond  the  grave  ? 

And  yet  thou  gran  test  that  we  have 

7 


8  TO  AN  AGNOSTIC  FRIEND. 

In  material  things  a  Force  and  Power 

Which  binds  with  might  and  makes  secure 

All  foundations, — that  from  tiniest  stone 

To  distant  star  is  o'erthrown 

A  law  supremely  grand  and  wise. 

Secure  thou  stand'st  here,  and  doth  immortalize 

Material  things  which  transcend  thy  scope 

Of  mind.     Yes,  thou  say'st  here,  no  hope 

Has  science  e'er  to  scan  the  little  or  the  great 

By  microscopic  lens,  or  erst  create 

Vision  telescopic  which  shall  scan 

The  ultimate  in  particle  from  meanest  thing  to  Man. 

The  ultimate  is  hid,  thou  sayest,  in  Nature's  plan  ; 

Atomic  force  doth  bind  the  warp  and  woof    « 

Of  Nature's  frame,  each  particle  aloof, 

Distant,  and  separate,  and  yet  are  one 

In  unity,  as  scientists  have  clearly  shown. 

Each  particle  in  itself  a  world  of  wonder, 

Each  atom  revolving  in  its  sphere,  and  under 

All  a  power  and  marvel  that  doth  bespeak 

A  plan.     No  pause,  no  failure,  not  a  break. 

In  all  the  marvellous,  wondrous  chain  that  bind 

In  bonds  eternal  the  great  or  little  not  an  end 

Is  seen.     In  microscopic  objects  sphere  fits  to  sphere, 

Atom  to  atom,  in  liquids,  solids,  or  in  atmosphere. 

As  in  the  little,  so  the  great,  in    smallest  speck   or  Pleaid 

grand, 
All  things  bespeak  the  Infinite :   the  mind  of  man,  a  grain  of 

sand  ! 

In  Nature's  crucible  divinest  alchemy  is  known; 
Her  book  of  many  pages  has  an  Index  one. 
All  is  infinite,  and  hath  proceeded  from  and  doth  revolve 
Around  the  Infinite  again,  unfold,  disclose,  evolve 
Again,  in  endless  circuit,  'round  the  central  sphere, 
Transforming  and  transcending,  thus  all  things  cohere. 
Units  of  sodium  in  that  distant  sphere 


TO  AN  AGNOSTIC  FRIEND.  g 

Rhythm   keep   and   concert    with    their   kindred    units 

here, 

And  brightest  hue  of  sunset  thus  appear : 
'Tis  caused  by  kindred  drops  thus  mingling  into  one. 
Thus  space  is  spanned  by  yonder  distant  sun, 
And  so  elastic  the  ethereal  wave 
That  binds  all  space  that  it  seems  to  have 
A  solid  base,  wherein  intelligence  doth  tread 
The  labyrinth's  maze,  and  weave  the  hidden  thread 
Of  spiritual  beauty,  high  Heaven's  appeal. 
But  "  thou  canst  not  speak  of  that  thou  dost  not  feel." 
Be  silent  then  ;  love  Solitude,  and  court 
The  Muse.     Let  lucid  calm  be  thy  resort 
From  crudeness,  and  from  skeptic's  doubt 
Within  thy  soul,  within  thy  heart,  and  not  without  ! 
E'en  thou  canst  read  the  Book  of  Life  aright 
E'en  thou  canst  trace  the  lines  of  living  light       • 
In  Truth's  gospel.     Glad  tidings  these  indeed 
To  many  a  mind  enfranchised,  whom  she  has  freed. 
And  origin  of  man  thou  wouldst  solve? 
And  yet  so  ignorant  that  thou  canst  not  evolve 
A  sense,  or  disconnect  from  common  weal 
The  good  of  all !     Herein  doth  Heaven  high  reveal, 
Make  known  to  Man,  concensus  clear, 
Her  voice  to  all  :  'tis  ever  near. 
Yes,  here  again  is  unity  disclosed, — 
A  law  of  sympathy  and  love  which  flows 
As  river  of  our  peace.     Graciousness  to  man 
Is  Heaven's  high  law.     With  this  he  can  span 
The  arch  which  binds  the  universe, 
Traverse  all  space,  and  in  his  heart  rehearse 
A  song  of  sweetness  and  a  hymn  of  praise. 
Thus  he  can  raise  in  scale  of  being,  all  his  ways 
Attuned  to  Nature's  law,  he  pleased  with   her  and  she 

with  him. 
O  thou  of  little  faith,  thus  thou  shalt  climb 


10  TO  AN  AGNOSTIC  FRIEND. 

The  sacred  stairway, — not  as  they  at  Vatican, 

With  mind  benumbed  by  superstitious  bane ; 

But,  as  Luther,  thou  shalt  lean  upon  the  staff  of  Faith, 

And  with  fidelity  and  trust  in  Her.     The  zenith 

Of  thy  life  and  power  shall  consecrated  be 

To  elevate  the  truth  and  make  men  free. 

Unless  the  Human  seeks  thus  his  degree 

"  He  withers  at  the  heart,  and  looks  as  wan 

As  the  pale  spectre  of  a  murdered  man." 

And  what  is  Truth  ?     Dost  thou  aspire 

By  sight  and  sense?     Dost  thou  inquire 

By  sensuous  cetera  the  truth,  the  life,  the  way? 

And  thou  art  learned,  and  knowest  the  essay 

Of  science, — how  she  chasm  deep  hath  found, 

How  her  ripest  and  her  wisest  seers  expound 

The  truth.     They  have  no  thought,  no  dream,  no  hope 

To  bridge  the  gulf.     'Tis  utterly  beyond  the  scope 

Of  Man  to  tell  how  life  and  thought  doth  animate 

The  world.     Too  high,  too  deep,  too  broad,  too  great 

The  mystery  of  life,  of  thought,  of  mind,  to  solve, — 

Too  great  for  man  to  tell.     It  doth  involve 

All  motion.     How  the  senseless  brain,  dull  and  inanimate, 

Is  lit  with  high  intelligence,  surpassing  great  ! 

Themes  transcendent  high  doth  show  an  outer 

And  an  inner  world.      High  Heaven — can  we  doubt  her? — 

Hath  a  realm  of  feeling  wherein  we  know, 

Because  we  feel,  her  bounteous  overflow. 

That  feeds  and  satisfies  the  inward  sense 

With  clearest,  purest  evidence  ! 

Sum  up  the  love  all  human  hearts  have  ever  known, 

Count  all,  in  every  land,  'neath  every  zone, — 

'Tis  but  the  love  of  Heaven  for  her  own  ! 

Thus  Love  was  born, — and  Love  can  never  die, — 

Celestial  origin  divine,  Humanity  doth  testify. 

And  as  is  mother's  love  for  dearest  son, 

So  Heavenly  Love  doth  look  upon 


TO  AN  AGNOSTIC  FRIEND.  H 

Her   offspring.     From   womb   of  Love,  Perseus,  thou   hast 

sprung. 

A  Heavenly  Love  that's  careless  of  its  young? 
Oh,  thou  agnostic  disputant,  who  doth  grant 
Eternity  to  matter,  how  extravagant,  how  ignorant 
Thou  art  thus  in  thy  philosophy  to  give 
Eternity  to  senseless  things,  and  love  and  mind  as  fugitive  ! 
Thou  sayest  it  matters  not ;  thou  shalt  survive  and  live. 
Proceeding  from  the  Eternal  font  sublime, 
Thou  shalt  survive  thy  foolish  crime 
Of  doubt  and  disbelief.     Thou  yet  shall  see. 
The  Truth,  her  beauty ;  she  will  make  thee  free. 
Thou  yet  shall  see  in  clearest  light 
E'en  here  below.     Renew'd  shall  be  thy  sight ; 
Thy  heart  shall  live  by  that  thy  lips  disown  ; 
Thy  trust  shall  be  in  Wisdom's  ways  alone. 
Ne'er  shalt  thou  speak  of  Her  as  the  unknown  ; 
For  now,  and  here,  our  eyes  doth  see 
Those  portals  which  reveal  Eternity. 


THE    PLEASURES    OF    HOME. 


PROFOUNDEST  feeling  that  o'erflows  the  heart, 

Immortalized  by  song  and  crowned  by  art ! 

To  thee  the  minstrel  full  oft  his  harp  will  tune, 

For  in  thy  paths  are  flowers  of  fancy  strewn. 

A  Burns  has  wandered  in  those  paths  along 

With  heart  inspired,  attuned  to  glowing  song, 

For  Scotia's  homes,  the  dearest  and  the  best, 

In  vales  sequestered,  on  the  mountain's  crest. 

Or  where,  O  poet-peasant,  thou  hast  discoursed  beside, 

Or  watched  with  kindling  glance,  the  Yarrow's  silver  tide ; 

Or  where  thy  "  Mary  in  heaven"  whispered  to  the  soul 

Of  melody,  as  gentle  Ayr  without  control  ; 

Or  'neath  the  shades  that  deck  thy  banks,  O  bonnie  Doon. 

Such  scenes,  they  are  embalmed  in  Scottish  hearts  as  flowers 

of  June ; 

And  while  gliding  o'er  the  wild  Atlantic's  wave, 
Or  where  Pacific's  surges  peaceful  lave, 
Tho'  o'er  wooded  heights,  o'er  vast  prairies  roam, 
Still  by  Scotland's  sons  are  treasured  thoughts  of  home. 

And  tho'  from  native  land  by  rugged  shores  exiled, 
Thy  songs,  O  Burns,  have  oft  the  exile's  heart  beguiled  : 
They  thrill  the  soul  and  spring  spontaneous  from  the  tongue. 
Yes,  all  o'er  the  world  thy  glowing  songs  are  sung ; 
And  none,  tho'  wreathed  in  chaplets  set  in  glory, 
Or  chanting  forth  of  much-loved  Highland  story, 


THE  PLEASURES   OF  HOME. 

Tho'  chiming  sweet  in  matchless  tome, 
None  touch  the  heart  like  songs  of  home. 
The  wanderer  sings  of  Auld  Lang  Syne 
O'er  roaring  seas,  'neath  clustering  vine; 
Where'er  he  wanders,  where'er  he  be, 
His  frequent  thoughts  they  turn  to  thee. 
For  as  magnet  points  to  polar  star, 
So  love  doth  wander  oft  afar 
To  earliest  scenes  on  native  soil ; 
'Round  these  Affection's  tendrils  coil. 

Can  these  emotions  e'er  transported  be, 
As  from  native  land  the  cultured  tree  ? 
No  ;  not  without  a  wrench  of  roots  below. 
The  tree  may  wither,  or,  perchance,  may  grow, 
May  flourish,  if  beneath  a  genial  clime, 
May  grow  and  blossom  in  some  fruitful  time ; 
But  ne'er  can  time  or  clime  efface 
Or  change  the  nature  or  the  race. 
The  tree  will  e'er  its  foreign  growth  attest, 
So  Man  can  ne'er  his  earliest  thoughts  repress. 
Another  generation  must  adorn  the  stage, 
The  current  alter  and  mind  engage. 


n. 

Ask  of  the  patriot  from  dear  France  an  exile, 

Tho'  the  orange  may  blossom  and  the  seasons  may  smile ; 

Tho'  spices  and  balm  on  the  wings  of  the  gale ; 

Tho'  the  flowers  of  the  tropics  their  fragrance  exhale ; 

Tho'  clouds  fringed  with  gold  thus  drape  the  sky ; 

Tho'  the  breath  of  the  zephyr  be  soft  as  a  sigh ; 

Tho'  sweet-ladened  odors  and  grateful  perfume  ; 

Tho'  the  summer  in  beauty,  in  glory  may  bloom  ; 

Yet  that  land  to  the  exile  is  naught  but  a  tomb. 


I4  THE   PLEASURES   OF  HOME. 

He  dreams  of  dear  France,  his  loved  native  shore. 
On  Memory's  swift  wing  Imagination  doth  soar, 
And  mirrors  the  treasures  which  are  stored  in  the  mind, 
Speaking  of  kindred,  which  to  native  strand  bind, 
The  home  of  his  fathers,  his  childhood's  dear  home. 
'Midst  the  scenes  of  the  past  sweet  Fancy  doth  roam, — 
The  bower  in  the  garden  'neath  the  clambering  vine, 
On  the  banks  of  the  Seine,  or  the  slopes  of  the  Rhine. 
He  thinks  of  sweet  Home,  where  in  boyhood  he  played 
In  the  old  orchard,  'neath  the  apple-tree  shade  ; 
Of  the  wine-press  which,  at  each  wrench  of  the  lever, 
Gave  forth  in  red  streams  to  the  iron-bound  receiver 
The  streams  of  that  nectar,  which  oft  he  had  quaffd, 
As  pure  as  the  love  in  his  bosom  engraft, — 
The  love  of  his  youth,  that  bright  radiant  star, 
Which  shone  o'er  his  life  and  beamed  from  afar. 
He  thought  of  the  minstrel  and  the  oft  merry  dance, 
Of  the  note  of  the  lute,  'neath  the  olive  of  France. 
He  thought  of  the  vineyard,  where  oft  he  had  trod  ; 
Of  the  cross  at  the  altar,  dedicated  to  God  ; 
Of  the  shrine  of  the  Virgin,  where  his  fathers  oft  knelt, 
And  as  balm  to  the  soul  her  sweet  presence  felt. 
'Twas  there  he  plighted  his  faith,  the  love  of  his  youth, 
His  heart  and  his  hand, — the  seal  of  his  truth. 

For  dear  France  he  sighs  on  Cayenne's  dread  shore, 
And  curses  the  tyrant  who  from  native  land  tore.* 
His  vow  he  renews  to  loved  liberty  plighted, 
The  despot  disowned,  and  fair  Freedom  righted. 
Such  prayers  as  these  are  on  western  winds  borne 
From  the  heart  of  the  exile,  drear  and  forlorn. 
They  speed  o'er  the  ocean,  are  heard  in  the  gales 
That  waft  o'er  the  deep  and  fill  the  white  sails. 

*  In  treachery  and  cruelty,  Louis  Napoleon  was  a  fitting  successor  to  his 
great  uncle. 


THE   PLEASURES  OF  HOME.  IE 

What  was  the  crime  that  from  native  land  banished? 

Why  were  these  patriots  of  loved  liberty  ravished  ? 

This  the  crime  they  committed,  for  this  warr'd  in  their  might 

The  usurper  they  hated,  and  struck  for  the  right, 

For  home  and  the  fireside,  that  sacred  domain; 

These,  man's  dearest  rights,  they  strove  to  maintain  ; 

Their  country  they  loved,  and  vowed  to  defend  her. 

For  this  their  heart's  tendrils  were  thus  torn  asunder. 

Just  Heaven  !  how  long  is  the  despot  to  reign  ? 

How  long  from  just  vengeance  will  thy  legions  refrain  ? 

How  long  will  Truth's  martyrs  in  dungeons  be  cast  ? 

Are  such  scenes  forever,  forever  to  last  ? 

Must  Freedom  lurk  in  the  mountain  and  hide  in  the  cave? 

Never  gird  on  her  armor  the  tyrant  to  brave  ? 

Shall  her  cause  never  conquer,  ne'er  her  banner  unfurl? 

And  the  despot,  exulting,  reign  over  the  world? 

All  over  but  'neath  fair  Columbia's  sky, 

Her  arms  only  open  for  the  patriot  to  fly ; 

Only  her  forest  a  refuge,  her  wild  plains  a  home, 

Where  the  wild  locust  blossoms  and  the  prairie-rose  bloom. 

Must  Liberty  perish,  by  brute  force  overcome, 

And  behind  the  horizon  set  forever  her  sun  ? 

Not  forever,  tho'  it  may  seem  long  delayed, 

That  time  for  which  oft  the  patriot  has  prayed. 

Her  march  to  her  empire  to  us  may  seem  slow, 

That  her  rills  gather  slowly,  that  her  torrents  ne'er  flow ; 

But  a  year  unto  her,  'tis  but  as  a  day, — 

Time  she  measureth  not  as  it  floweth  away. 

She  knows  that  her  kingdom  at  last  it  will  come 

To  gladden  the  heart,  to  gladden  the  Home ! 

in. 

O  Home,  much-loved  Home,  the  heart's  dearest  treasure, 
Of  affection  and  kindred  the  sacred  enclosure, 


1 6  THE  PLEASURES   OF  HOME. 

Universal  thy  pleasures,  in  every  clime  known, 
The  same  o'er  the  wide  world,  in  every  zone  ! 
The  savage  he  loves  thee,  on  bear-skin  reclining  ; 
The  slave  as  he  toils  is  for  native  land  pining  ; 
The  soldier  in  battle,  his  last  thought  is  of  thee, 
And  he  battles  the  braver  if  his  home  'tis  to  free. 
The  merchant  gains  gold  and  vends  in  the  mart, 
The  future  he  hopes  for  'tis  Home's  magic  art ; 
The  sailor  as  he  peers  o'er  the  boundless  horizon, 
The  lark  as  she  sings  from  the  meadow  arising ; 
Toward  home  on  high  crag  the  eagle  is  soaring, 
Tho'  the  lightning  is  near  and  the  torrent  is  pouring, 
Yet,  poised  on  his  wing,  he  wends  on  his  way, 
With  the  salmon  he  wrenched  from  the  fish-hawk  away. 
This  he  bears  in  his  talons  to  the  mountain's  high  crest, 
There  by  beak  of  his  eaglets  with  affection  caressed. 
The  whelp  of  the  lion,  their  fierce  sire  purring  round, 
He  fondles  them  gently  as  he  reclines  on  the  ground. 
Thus  'tis  not  only  to  Man  is  Home  a  sweet  rest, 
But  the  fox  has  his  hole,  the  wild  bird  a  nest. 


Ofttimes  has  Ambition  relinquished  the  prize, 

The  goal  which  she  saw  in  the  prospect  arise, 

And  strove  to  embrace  as  Hope's  fond  fruition. 

But,  disenchanted  by  nearness,  lo  !  the  transition 

When  pursuit  is  abandoned,  when  sated  by  honor, 

When  glory  ne'er  dazzles,  when  wearied  by  splendor, 

The  king  has  descended,  disrobed  and  dethroned  ! 

The  warrior  and  statesman  have  glory  disowned, 

A.nd  sought  those  endearments  in  affection's  rich  mine, 

Those  pleasures  and  treasures  which  e'er  radiant  shine, 

Which  throw  over  life's  shadows  a  rich  mellow  ray, 

Illuming  our  pilgrimage  and  cheering  the  way. 

Yes,  first  at  the  cradle  the  infant  to  greet, 

Then  a  mother  watches  o'er  us  and  lulls  to  slumbers  sweet. 


THE  PLEASURES   OF  HOME. 

Every  smile  'tis  noted,  'tis  treasured  in  the  heart, 

And  every  grief  'tis  vanquished  by  a  mother's  magic  art. 

Thus  lovelight  on  earth  and  lovelight  from  heaven 

Are  freely  bestowed  and  generously  given. 

From  Orion  and  Pleiad  they  flow  bright  and  free, 

As  an  earnest,  O  Man,  is  homelight  to  thee. 

Then  banish  the  shadows  which  over  thee  roll, 

With  light  in  the  stars  and  with  trust  in  thy  soul ! 


IV. 

Hail  !  heavenly  beacon.     Since  darkness  erst  fled 

Wast  ever  on  Man  greater  happiness  shed? 

Wast  ever  since  Creation's  anthem  first  was  sung, 

Since  o'er  shapeless  void  our  earth  was  swung, 

Since  solar  ray  first  dazzling  glowed 

And  banished  darkness  on  its  road 

Through  space,  since  chaos  burst  into  birth 

Wast  ever  known  on  God's  green  earth — 

Wast  ever  known  'neath  Heaven's  high  dome — 

Joys  greater  than  the  joys  of  Home  ? 

Banished  be  every  bliss  in  human  heart, 

But,  oh  !  let  not  the  rays  of  Home  depart ! 

Let  these  but  linger  and  console  the  mind, 

Some  solace  still  the  heart  can  find. 

Let,  O  let  Affection's  fingers  touch  the  trembling  strings, 

The  cords  which  bind  the  soul  to  earthly  things ! 

Let  Love's  sweet  solace  but  attune  the  lyre, 

Life's  ills  are  soothed,  fulfilled  each  fond  desire. 

This,  only  this  can  constant  bliss  supply  ; 

This,  only  this  can  shine  beatific  in  Life's  sky . 

Then  glow,  ye  orbs  !  shed,  shed  your  rays. 

Ye  heavenly  lamps,  that  lustrous  blaze 

O'erhead,  light,  light  us  on  our  way  ! 

And  tell,  O  tell,  doth  in  Heaven's  eternal  day, 

2* 


1 8  THE  PLEASURES   OF  HOME. 

Do  these  affections  which  inspire  the  heart  below, 

Which  deepen  like  the  streamlets  as  they  flow, 

Oh,  in  that  bright  world,  that  circling  seat  of  bliss, 

Lives  human  love?  glows  earthly  happiness? 

Do  those  twining  plants  that  cling  so  closely  here, 

Do  they  exist  in  Heaven's  immortal  sphere? 

I  singled  out  a  star  that  twinkled  in  the  sky, 

And,  enraptured,  gazed  till  methought  I  had  reply, - 

Love,  'tis  of  God :  it  can  never,  never  die  ! 

Pleased  with  the  thought,  the  inspiring  thought, 
That  to  my  heart  such  welcome  brought, — 
Yes,  it  nerved  my  soul,  my  wish  to  share 
Those  heavenly  joys  that  bloom  immortal  there. 

And  that  thrilling  word,  from  twinkling  star  above, 
Dost  not  accord  with  what  we  know  of  love, 
Of  friendship,  and  those  soothing  social  ties 
Which  beam  at  Home  with  lustrous  eyes  ? 

Yes,  when  Love  from  heaven  to  earth  descended, 

'Twas  by  angelic  hosts  attended. 

They  breathed  in  Man  celestial  fire, 

Attuned  the  harp  and  strung  the  lyre. 

In  chorus  to  the  heavenly  choir, 

In  anthems  blending  with  the  notes, 

In  concert  with  the  air  that  floats, 

That  radiant  glows  with  halo  bright, 

Fills  heavenly  halls  with  amber  light, — 

Those  halls  of  bliss  in  spheres  above, — 

Resplendent  beam  with  angel's  love  ! 

'Tis  love  emblazons  'round  the  Throne, 

Encircling  o'er  though  space  'tis  thrown; 

Attracting  souls  and  knitting  hearts, 

Its  magic  ray  to  mind  imparts ! 


THE   PLEASURES   OF  HOME.  !9 

'Twill  circle  thus  in  endless  years, 
'Twill  gleam  amidst  revolving  spheres  ; 
'Twill  elevate  from  earthly  dross, 
'Twill  throw  its  radiant  light  across 
Unnumbered  worlds!     'Twill  Man  inspire 
With  thoughts  beyond  all  low  desire, 
'Twill  glow  till  Love  majestic  reigns, 
'Twill  bind  with  amaranthine  chains  ! 
'Twill  blend  its  grace  in  every  face, 
'Twill  change  and  beautify  the  race, 
'Twill  circuit  till  God's  worlds  become 
Emblazoned  in  the  rays  of  Home  ! 

v. 

Columbia' s  pater  patria,  oft  tired  of  war  and  state  parade, 
Longed,  loved  Vernon,  for  thy  umbrageous  shade ; 
And  tho'  Freedom's  clarion  notes  oft  urged  to  deadly  war, 
The  beacon- light  of  Home,  that  was  the  cherished  star. 
And  when  liberty  'twas  won,  when  the  hero's  strife  was  o'er, 
How  wishfully  he  looked  to  thee,  Potomac's  pebbled  shore  ! 
How  anxiously  expectant  when  he  led  his  legions  on  ! 
Oh,  who  was  like  to  thee,  Columbia's  Washington? 
Who,  when  the  victory  won,  when  Freedom's  rights  restored, 
Willingly — nay,  ardently — preferred  the  ploughshare  to  the 

sword. 
Had  an   empire's  crown  been  offered,  he  would  the  bribe 

have  spurned, 

And  the  more  lovingly  toward  sweet  Home  have  turned. 
Oh,  much  to  thee,  fair  Freedom,  didst  this  glowing  love  impart ; 
Much  mayst  thou  thank,  O  Liberty,  it  filled  thy  hero's  heart, — 
That  in  that  patriot's  pulses  the  love  of  country  throbbed, 
That  Home  encircled  round  him,  that  Virtue  sat  enrobed. 

VI. 

Aristseus,  son  of  Apollo,  with  sweets  thou  didst  flavor 
The  fruits,  and  taught  unto  Man  their  delicate  savor ; 


20  THE  PLEASURES   OF  HOME. 

But  ere  he  tasted  of  them  he'd  felt  the  sweet  joys  of  Home. 
Adam's  heart  knew  these  when  o'er  the  garden  he'd  roam, — 
Not  perfected,  indeed,  until  Eve  he  was  given  : 
'Twas  then  Eden  blossomed  with  joys  as  of  heaven. 
Oh,  what  is  the  bliss,  and  where  are  the  flowers 
That  compare  with  sweet  Home  'neath  her  eglantine  bowers? 
Dost  say  that  Hope,  fair  enchantress,  more  joy  e'er  combine, 
More  of  beauty  and  grace  in  her  hawthorn  entwine  ? 

O  goddess  propitious  !  there's  a  snare  in  thy  art ; 

Deferred  thy  felicity,  thou  sickeneth  the  heart. 

Thou  art  as  Apollo  at  Delphi's  shrines: 

At  times  thou  honoreth,  but  oft  hope  repines. 

The  wayworn  pilgrim,  as  he  surmounts  thy  high  towers, 

Will  expectant  remain  in  thy  turrets  many,  many  drear  hours. 

O  beautiful  illusion,  that  glimmereth  anon, 

Thy  ray  'tis  but  fancied  ;  when  grasped  for,  'tis  gone  ! 

Thou  promiseth  Youth  a  glorious  career. 

He  looketh  to  thee  ;  he  sees  naught  to  fear. 

Ambition  and  Genius,  they  go  hand  in  hand  ; 

Hope  glitters  before  them  with  her  magical  wand. 

She  leadeth  the  way;  she  beckoneth  on. 

Youth  follows  rejoicing,  with  music  and  song ; 

But  the  laurel  he  sees,  to  encircle  his  brow. 

With  his  foot  in  the  furrow,  his  hand  on  the  plough, 

He  glanceth  not  back  :   he  believeth  in  thee. 

At  thy  shrine  he  worshippeth ;  there  bendeth  the  knee. 

Thy  form  'tis  refulgent,  adorned  with  beauty  and  grace  ; 

It  encircles  thy  brow  and  beams  in  thy  face. 

But  is  not  thy  face  deceitful  and  siren  thy  tongue? 
Hast  thou  not  misled  with  the  song  thou  hast  sung  ? 
From  home  and  the  fireside,  happy  and  bright, 
Hast  thou  not  allured  with  thy  Will-o'-wisp  light  ? 


THE  PLEASURES   OF  HOME.  21 

And  Youth  oft  hast  promised,  with  thy  smile  so  enticing? 
Seducing  his  heart,  with  thy  gentle  surmising, 
From  the  home  of  his  childhood,  the  home  of  his  youth. 
Thou  hast  oft  decoyed  him  from  honor  and  truth, 
Attracting  and  luring  from  Contentment's  sweet  vales, 
To  launch  on  Life's  ocean  and  spread  all  his  sails. 

• 
Take  from  Hope  the  pleasures  of  Home, 

Of  country  and  kindred,  how  altered  her  tome  ! 

How  tamed  is  her  soaring,  how  joyless  her  aim  ! 

Tell  me  not  of  ambition,  the  glories  of  fame  ; 

Tell  me  not  of  Johnson,  of  Goldsmith,  or  Gray, 

Of  Chatham,  Burke,  Sheridan,  Webster,  or  Clay; 

Refer  me  not  to  Homer,  Petrarch,  Shakespeare,  or  Milton, 

To  Bacon,  Copernicus,  Galileo,  Harvey,  or  Newton; 

Quote  not  to  me  of  e'en  great  or  illustrious  man, 

I  tell  you  that  life  is  at  best  but  a  span  ; 

That  fame's  an  illusion,  a  bauble,  a  cheat ; 

That  ambition  and  glory  both  at  the  grave  meet. 

Oh,  thousands  on  thousands  have  knelt  at  their  shrine. 

Youth  !  hast  thou  imagined  greatness  was  thine  ? 

Where  now  are  the  laurels  thou  thoughtst  to  twine, 

To  twine  'round  thy  brow,  o'er  the  ages  to  shine  ? 

Are  they  not  trampled  to  earth,  and  forgotten  long  since  ? 

Thy  name  and  thy  lineage  gone,  O  whence? 

And  silence  repeated  and  slow  echoed  back. 

No  trace  can  I  find,  no  time-honored  track, — 

The  grave  and  its  shadows  have  closed  over  thy  dust ; 

The  name  thou  so  vauntest,  'tis  covered  with  rust. 

Inquires!  thou,  then,  is  there  no  happiness  here? 
Is  life,  then,  so  dreary,  so  o'erburdened  with  care? 
Is  hope  an  illusion,  imagination  a  dream  ? 
Is  the  sun  of  youth's  longing  never,  never  to  beam  ? 
Is  earth  but  a  vast  grave,  drear  and  forlorn  ? 
Was  Man  made  and  created  only  to  mourn? 


22  THE  PLEASURES   OF  HOME. 

Not  so  !  Look  thou  at  the  first  flush  of  morn  ; 
See  the  beauties  of  earth  that  thy  pathway  adorn  ; 
Watch  the  mist  on  the  river,  slow  lifting  its  curtain. 
Repine  not  in  thy  heart,  there  are  joys  which  are  certain. 
Walk  forth  in  the  fields  ;  hear  the  music  around  thee, — 
The  sweet  warbling  of  birds,  the  hum  of  the  bee. 
O'erhead  view  the  canopy  that  circles  thee  'round  ; 
Listen  to  Nature,  hear  the  melodious  sound. 
Watch  thy  heart-beatings,  thy  soul-promptings  within, 
Thou  wilt  see  that  thy  soul  was  ne'er  fashioned  for  sin. 

VII. 

Oh,  come  with  me,  friend,  in  the  sweet  vales  of  life, 

Away  from  ambition,  fame,  glory,  and  strife; 

Come  wander  with  me  'neath  Heaven's  high  dome. 

I'll  sing  of  Contentment,  the  joys  of  sweet  Home, 

Of  Peace,  Virtue,  and  Sweetness, — those  twin  sisters  three, — 

Of  Culture  combined  with  true  Liberty. 

I'll  lead  you  not  to  the  city,  tho'  perchance  there  'tis  found, 

But  its  conventionalisms  fetter  and  bind  the  mind  'round 

Too  much  to  exhibit  the  pure  pleasures  of  Home  ; 

So  to  Pennsylvania's  loved  manors,  O  thitherward  come. 

Come,  come  with  me,  friend,  the  theme  it  impels, 

And  Phcebus,  she'd  wander  'neath  life's  flow'ry  dells  ; 

Pomona  woos  to  orchards,  to  gardens,  to  a  far-distant  vale, 

Where  woodlands  rich,  where  glist'ning  dews  prevail. 

In  grotto  fair  we'll  seek  some  favors  of  those  sisters  nine, — 

Mayhap  a  tranquil  grace  around  our  Muse  they'll  twine. 

Some  flow'ret  sweet  they'll   give,  perchance,  that   blossoms 

unseen, — 

Some  violet  fair  that  hides,  with  artless,  modest  mien, 
In  forest  dense  or  meadows  green. 
Such  flowers  there  grow;  they  scent  the  gale, 
They  bloom,  they  die,  their  fragrance  they  exhale ! 
Fair  Thalia,  such  scenes  I  know  thou  too  admires  ; 
For  'tis  in  the  noiseless  vales  of  life  the  Muse  retires. 


THE  PLEASURES   OF  HOME.  23 

From  bustle,  glare,  and  fashion  she  withdraws ; 
O'ercome  with  noise,  she  sinks  'neath  loud  applause. 

Drive  the  steed  gently,  now;  let  him  rest  there, 
While  we  drink  a  pure  draught  and  inhale  the  sweet  air. 
Look  thou  around  thee,  survey  the  rich  scene ! 
See  the  dark,  waving  corn,  the  meadows  so  green. 
Cast  thy  eye  o'er  the  waters,  o'er  gentle  Schuylkill : 
Seest  thou  the  smoke  yonder,  the  smoke  of  the  kiln, 
Slow  curling  its  columns  beyond  the  reach  of  the  eye? 
Watch  its  dusky,  vapory  wreathings  till  lost  in  the  sky. 
Hear  the  splash  of  the  water,  the  clang  of  the  mill  ; 
See  the  spire  in  the  distance  on  the  brow  of  the  hill. 
Was  ever  landscape  more  fair,  more  beauty  conveyed  ? 
Know'st  thou  prospect  more  rich  ?     Has  eye  ever  surveyed  ? 

There,  just  to  the  right  of  those  tall  poplar-trees, 
That  sway  to  and  fro  in  the  soft  summer  breeze, — 
There,  just  over  that  bridge  that  circles  so  lightly, 
There,  there  is  a  home  where  friendship  beams  brightly. 
"Tis  there, .in  that  nook,  lives  my  much-honored  friend: 
Thitherward  (in  thought),  good  steed,  we  will  wend. 
Thou  smilest,  friend,  thou  hollow-cheeked  man, 
And  enviest  that  reaper,  with  his  face  bronzed  with  tan. 
Well  mayst  thou  envy  him :   there's  content  in  his  heart, 
Whilst  thy  brain  is  busied  with  bonds  in  the  mart. 
See  his  broad  swath  through  the  trembling  grain  ! 
There's  grace  in  his  action  and  power  in  his  aim; 
There's  health  on  his  cheek,  in  his  arm  there  is  wealth, — 
They  are  treasures  far  greater,  friend,  than  thy  golden  pelf. 
For  such  as  he  are  at  once  our  glory  and  pride, 
And  ne'er  to  Columbia  can  their  place  be  supplied. 
And  woe  to  thee,  Liberty,  to  the  spoiler  a  prey  ! 
Beware,  O  Columbia  !  beware  of  that  day 
When  luxury  and  wealth  shall  o'er  the  land  ride, 
Engulfing  our  landmarks  with  their  o'erflowing  tide  ! 


24  THE  PLEASURES   OF  HOME. 

When  corruption  and  falsehood  shall  rule  o'er  the  land, 
Shall  marshal  their  forces  and  muster  their  band, 
Seize  the  strongholds  of  state,  and  interpret  the  law, 
Explaining  freedom  away  by  some  legal  flaw  ; 
When  the  Law,  thus  corrupted,  be  with  Faction  allied, 
And  the  foul  hand  of  Party  the  ship  of  state  guide. 
Cherish,  then,  O  my  country,  men  fresh  from  the  field, — 
Much  less  likely  are  they  to  corruption  to  yield. 

That  tan-embrowned  man  was  a  school-chum  of  mine. 

We've  trapped,  fished,  and  hunted  in  youth's  golden  prime ; 

Together  we've  wandered  o'er  these  steep  hills, 

Caught  the  white-tailed  rabbit,  trolled  for  trout  in  the  rills. 

On  the  crest  of  that  rock  we  oft  used  to  climb, 

Richly  paid  for  our  toil  by  the  prospect  sublime. 

Oft  we've  traversed  those  woods  and  tracked  the  raccoon, 

Went  giging  for  pike  with  the  mimic  harpoon  ; 

And  with  Rollo  the  faithful  close  in  our  rear, 

Together  we've  chatted  of  panther  and  deer, 

Giving  wing  to  sweet  Fancy,  and  imagined  again 

That  the  wild  warrior  roamed  over  mountain  and  plain. 

We've  heard  the  loud  war-whoop,  which  the  hills  echoed  back, 

And  saw  the  red  man  descend  with  death  in  his  track. 

We've  fancied  this,  too,  not  without  some  plausible  ground  ; 

For  arrow-heads  by  the  score  in  the  valley  we've  found. 

Those  memorials  of  battle  on  the  ground  there  were  strewn, 

And  oft  here  and  there  we've  found  the  axe  of  stone  hewn. 

Oh,  dear  is  that  river  where  in  boyhood  I've  bathed  ! 
Yes,  oft  in  thy  waters,  O  Schuylkill,  I've  laved  ; 
And  oft  with  patience,  too,  along  thy  shore 
The  dipsy,  net,  and  rod  I've  bore; 
And  have  list,  enraptured,  to  the  boatman's  horn, 
As  o'er  thy  silvery  waves  the  glad  music  was  borne. 
And  this  scraggy  beech  bears  marks  which  endears, 
For  the  name  of  the  maiden  with  mine  there  appears. 


THE   PLEASURES   OF  HOME.  2 

She  and  I  have  went  nutting  ere  the  sun  showed  his  face. 

Ah,  may  those  joyous  days  time  never,  never  efface  ! 

For  oft  fond  memory  revisits  boyhood's  loved  scene, — 

The  forest,  the  river,  the  meadow  so  green. 

Each  nook  in  those  rocks  I  knew  them  full  well. 

There  an  old  hermit  dwelt  whom  our  fortunes  would  tell, — 

Not  as  gypsy  or  crone,  by  e'en  mystical  plan  ; 

In  the  eye  he  would  gaze  and  the  countenance  scan. 

I've  stood  by  his  cave,  chained  with  wondering  ear; 

Have  gazed  in  his  face,  with  the  oft  trickling  tear, 

As  he  unburdened  his  sorrow,  his  trouble,  his  care. 

On  the  banks  of  this  river  we  were  seated, — just  there. 

On  the  banks  of  sweet  Schuylkill,  on  a  moss-covered  seat, 

The  reason  he  told  why  he  sought  that  retreat, 

Why  from  society  thus  secluded  he  lived  in  a  cave, 

Why  banished  from  Home,  'neath  Nature's  architrave. 

His  heart's  affections  I  knew  were  tender  and  true, 

That  his  mind  bespoke  one, — a  love  of  virtue. 


With  attention  I  listened.    The  old  soldier  began  ; 

He  unfolded  his  life  ;  thus  the  theme  ran  : 

"  I  was  born,"  said  he,  "  o'er  the  ocean,  on  the  banks  of  the 

Tweed. 

Ah  !    when  I  think  of  my  youth,  it  makes  my  heart  bleed. 
My  father  was  a  patriot  on  Scotia's  dear  shore. 
Oh,  oft  in  my  mind  the  old  home  I  explore, — 
Tho'  fourscore  and  six  winters  have  made  tresses  gray, 
Yet  the  stone  from  the  well  rolls  quickly  away, — 
The  cot  on  the  banks  of  the  swift-flowing  Tweed, 
The  elm-tree  before  it  on  the  closely-cropt  mead. 
Ah,  now,  with  memory's  aid,  methinks  I  sit  and  see 
My  mother,  as  with  her  children  she  sat  'neath  that  glorious 

old  tree. 

'Twas  oft  she  gathered  us  on  the  sweet  Sabbath  eve, 
And  read  of  the  Christ,  the  counsel  He  gave ; 

3 


26  THE   PLEASURES    OF  HOME. 

How  He  loved  little  children,  and  broke  of  the  bread  ; 

How  He  gathered  the  multitude,  the  multitude  fed. 

My  mother  !  methinks  I  hear  thy  accents  mild, 

Methinks  thou  smil'st  on  thy  child  ! 

Alas  !   'tis  but  a  shadow  that  my  vision  surveys, 

'Tis  but  an  illusion  that  fond  memory  portrays. 

•Yet  I  love  thus  to  linger  o'er  that  much -cherished  scene, 

And  as  the  grave  yawns  before  me  thus  oft  I  dream. 

When  young,"  said  the  old  man,  "  I  was  adventurous  and 
wild. 

Tho'  my  home  was  attractive,  and  a  sweet  sister  smiled ; 

Tho'  a  brother  loving, — beloved, — gallant,  and  brave, 

Yet  this  ne'er  my  longings  restrained,  ne'er  from  sad  fortune 
could  save ; 

For  I  wished  dearly  to  roam  on  the  ocean  of  life, — 

I  loved  scenes  of  excitement,  ambition,  and  strife. 

My  father,  therefore,  gave  me  a  portion  ;  I  bade  mother  fare- 
well, 

Clasped  brother  and  sister.     Yes,  I  remember  full  well 

The  emotion  within  me  on  leaving  dear  native  land. 

But  I  sailed  o'er  the  ocean  for  Columbia's  famed  strand. 

Not  long  was  I  here  ere  War's  clarion  sounded, 
That  music  I  loved  much.     Oh,  how  my  heart  bounded 
When  I  heard  the  invader  had  crossed  the  deep  sea 
To  'slave  the  land  that  I  lived  in,  to  subdue  liberty  ! 
For  I  loved  freedom  at  home,  'neath  Scotia's  bright  sun  ; 
Had  read  of  great  Bruce,  how  country  'twas  won; 
Had  heard  of  those  times,  how  Wallace  had  toiled, 
How  England  was  vanquished  and  Edward  was  foiled  ; 
How  our  bonneted  chieftains,  with  broadsword  and  spear, 
Rushed  to  the  battle  with  no  thought  of  fear. 
My  father,  he  too  was  a  warrior,  and  oft  has  he  told 
Of  a  grandsire  of  his,  free,  fearless,  and  bold. 
Ne'er  Scotland  had  chieftain  more  trusty  or  tried ; 
For  country  he  lived  and  for  country  he  died. 


THE   PLEASURES   OF  HOME.  27 

Thus  heroic  blood  within   me  pulsed  through  my  youthful 

veins, 
And  I  vow'd,  as  that  patriot  sire  before  me,  to  resist  the 

tyrant's  chains, 

And  joined  the  patriot  army  where  great  Washington  led. 
Ah,  my  lad,  how  we  suffered  !  how  those  patriots  bled  ! 
What  a  sweet  prize  is  liberty  !  how  much  it  has  cost ! 
What  treasure  was  lavished  !  oh,  the  lives  that  were  lost ! 
Their  sufferings,  their  trials  never  half  has  been  told, — 
What  it  cost  your  fathers  loved  freedom  to  mould. 
My  son,  cherish  that  legacy,  and  to  your  children  bequeath, 
For  'tis  our  honor  and  glory,  'tis  the  old  soldier's  wreath ; 
'Tis  yours  and  your  children's,  to  guard  it  with  care, 
The  heritage  we've  left  you,  rich,  precious,  and  rare. 

"  Oh  Thou  !"  said  the  old  man,  with  his  eyes  raised  to  heaven, 
"Guard,  guard  this  loved  land  !     Let  thy  blessing  be  given  ! 
Guard  Thou  fair  Freedom  !  for  that  was  the  prize. 
To  her  the  altar,  to  her  the  sacrifice  !" 
The  old  hero  paused,  with  agitation  overcome, 
And  recurred  for  a  moment  to  his  far-distant  home. 
I  looked  on  his  emotion  as  the  weakness  of  age ; 
But  I  knew  not  what  throbbed  in  the  heart  of  the  sage. 
He  soon  mastered  the  feeling,  and  his  narrative  pursued 
With  mind  much  more  calmed,  with  emotion  subdued. 
"  I  joined  the  patriots,"  said  he,  "  and  at  Lexington  fought, 
In  Canada  with  Arnold, — we  there  prodigies  wrought, — 
Was  a  dragoon  of  Lee's  at  famous  Stillwater, — 
A  glorious  day  that  for  Freedom,  though  grievous  the  slaugh- 
ter. 

My  old  commander,  Arnold,  there  raged  as  one  crazed. 
Oh,  much  might  his  name  be  now  honored  and  praised, 
Might  be  valued  by  country,  by  kindred  and  kind, 
And  his  fame  with  the  cypress  and  myrtle  be  twin'd, 
Had  the  dread  Reaper  garnered  him  on  that  bloody  field  1 
But  Fate  urged  him  on,  and  dire  Treason  sealed. 


28  THE  PLEASURES   OF  HOME. 

A  Washington  generously  trusted.     How  was  he  repaid  ? 

Columbia  was  bartered  and  Freedom  betrayed  ! 

That  man  I  loved  much,  tho'  his  faults  I  well  knew, — 

That  his  passions  were  strong,  that  his  virtues  were  few. 

Yet  I  ne'er  shall  forget  on  Quebec's  high  crest, 

When  the  steel  pressed  my  bosom  with  bayonet-thrust, 

When  the  enemy  were  round  me,  my  back  to  a  wall, 

Thus  battling  alone  he  rushed  at  my  call. 

Scattered  quick  were  the  foemen  ;  the  confusion  was  dire 

Blood-stained  his  sabre,  his  eye  flashed  with  fire  ! 

He  was  glorious  in  battle,  then  generous  his  heart. 

'Twas  gold  and  ambition,  their  terrible  art, 

'Twas  hope  disappointed,  a  mind  naturally  vain, 

Splendor  and  show,  a  weak  heart  and  brain, — 

This  led  him  a  captive,  this  made  him  a  slave, 

Bowed  his  high  name  and  dishonored  his  grave." 


VIII. 

"On  Brandywine's  disastrous  field  there  I  bore  a  part, 

And  witnessed  on  that  dreadful  field  War's  cruel,  cruel  art. 

With  my  legion,  too,  at  Germantown 

I  urged  my  steed,  with  broadsword  drawn. 

'Twas  on  the  eve  of  that  day,  ere  the  moon  filled  her  horn, 

As,  weary  of  contest,  tired,  sick,  and  forlorn, 

As  I  paced  with  worn  steed  on  the  banks  of  this  stream, 

And  watched  with  fond  glance  the  moon's  gentle  beam, 

A  footfall  I  heard.     Nearer  it  came. 

I  urged  my  steed  faster  o'er  the  rough-beaten  lane, 

And  struggled  to  reach  the  foot  of  the  hill. 

To  hide  in  the  alder  that  bordered  the  rill. 

In  my  saddle  I  turned,  saw  my  endeavor  was  vain ; 

For  my  horse  was  hard  travelled,  sore-footed,  and.  lame. 

So  broadsword  I  unsheathed,  as  thundering  they  came, 

One  after  the  other,  the  tallest  before. 

Like  a  torrent  he  rushed,  as  red-handed  war. 


THE  PLEASURES   OF  HOME.  29 

The  blood  stirred  within  me,  thro'  my  veins  danced ; 
I  thought  not  of  fatigue  as  on  he  advanced. 
But  my  steed  moving  wearily,  I  quickly  turned  round, 
And  horse  and  the  rider  they  rolled  on  the  ground. 

"  His  companion  rode  up,  his  steed  at  full  trot ; 

We  rapidly  charged,  each  exchanging  a  shot. 

My  horse  fell  beneath  me,  my  combatant's  the  same. 

Ah,  had  I  but  asked  that  opponent  his  name  ! 

The  moon  was  hid  'neath  a  cloud ;  not  a  word  had  been 

spoken 

As  broadsword  crossed  broadsword, — that  the  dire  token, — 
Blade  upon  blade,  cross-cut  and  pass, 
And  blood,  warm  blood,  soon  trickled  on  the  green  growing 

grass. 

Clang  after  clang  broke  the  stillness  of  night, 
Steel  crossed  steel,  reflected  the  moon's  silver  light. 
I  tried  all  the  sleights  of  my  art  known  but  to  one,- 
And  he  methought  far  away  'neath  Scotia's  fair  sun. 
Answered  were  all — cut  for  cut,  thrust  for  thrust. 
At  last,  oh  !  at  last  he — he — bit  the  dust !" 

The  old  man  again  paused,  and  on  his  time-furrowed  cheek 

The  tears  coursed  their  way  as  he  endeavored  to  speak ; 

For  his  emotions  were  stirred  to  the  depths  of  his  soul, 

And  some  time  elapsed  ere  his  heart  could  control. 

At  last,  with  faltering  utterance,  he  said, — 

"  There  prostrate  he  lay,  there  prostrate  he  bled  ! 

'  Friend,'  queried  the  dying  man, — 'twas  the  first  word  he  had 

spoken, — 
'  Where   learned   you    your  art  ?'    said   he,  in   accent  quite 

broken. 

Like  lightning  it  flashed  ;  I  rushed  to  his  side : 
'  O  Robert,  my  brother,  stay  !     Stay,  O  life's  tide  ! 
Accursed,  oh  !  accursed  be  that  fatal  blow 
That  laid  thee,  my  darling,  my  loved  one,  so  low  !' 

3* 


30  THE  PLEASURES   OF  HOME. 

Thus  frantic  I  acted,  thus  frantic  I  spoke. 

His  head  backward  fell :   his  heart  too  was  broke. 

The  recognition  'twas  mutual,  as  ray  follows  ray, 

As  light  gushes  forth  from  the  great  font  of  day. 

From  my  canteen  I  gave  him,  drop  by  drop,  the  cool  water ; 

I  prayed  him  to  speak,  but  not  a  word  did  he  utter. 

His  temples  I  chafed  as  he  lay  in  death's  trance  ; 

Once  he  opened  his  eyes, — oh,  the  love  in  that  glance  ! 

'Twas  pity  and  tenderness  that  beamed  in  his  eye. 

In  my  arms,  on  my  bosom,  he  breathed  his  last  sigh, 

Just  here  where  we  sit>     I  wept  o'er  his  remains, 

And  earnestly  wished  death  would  release  my  heart-pains. 

Oh,  the  agony,  the  heart-crushing-agony  I  felt, 

As  by  the  side  of  my  brother,  my  dead  brother,  I  knelt  ! 

A  comrade  extended  his  sympathy  and  aid  : 

We  buried  him  just  there  with  the  mattock  and  spade. 

By  that  juniper  there  he  fell,  there  lies  his  dust ; 

His  spirit  is  in  Heaven,  thus  humbly  I  trust. 

My  son,"  said  the  old  man,  "  promise  me  this — 

'Tis  all  that  I  ask — 'tis  nothing  amiss  : 

In  that  day  which  is  coming, — to  me  'twill  be  soon, — 

By  the  side  of  my  brother,  let  that  be  my  tomb. 

There,  'neath  the  shade  of  that  sycamore-tree, 

Promise,  my  son,  there  my  sepulchre  shall  be." 

I  promised  the  old  man,  and  homeward  I  went. 
My  heart  was  much  touched,  by  sympathy  rent. 
On  the  morrow,  toward  the  hermit's  cave  I  again  turned 

my  face. ' 

Alas  !  there  he  lay  in  Death's  cold  embrace. 
Fond  neighbors  gathered,  and  'neath  the  wide-spreading  tree 
There  his  body  we  laid — his  spirit  was  free. 

IX. 

But  here  are  we,  near  my  friend's  farm. 

Faster,  faster,  good  steed,  and  save  us  from  harm ; 


THE   PLEASURES   OF  HOME.  3! 

For  the  thunder  is  rolling,  a  storm  distant  looms. 

This,  friend,  is  one  of  Pennsylvania's  fair  homes. 

In  his  house  we'll  find  a  welcome  hospitable, 

Cheer  and  comfort  for  self,  for  our  steeds  a  good  stable. 

Trees,  you  perceive,  they  are  planted  with  taste; 

In  orchard  and  lawn  with  art  they  are  placed. 

And  his  fields,  you  observe,  with  great  care  are  tilled, 

For  his  mind  'tis  artistic,  in  husbandry  skilled. 

Their  appearance  (says  he)  'tis  the  garnisher  of  thought, 

And  the  uses  are  graces,  tho'  rough  hands  have  wrought. 

Thus  utility  and  beauty  should  e'er  be  combined, — 

The  ivy  and  oak, — as  in  the  well  ordered  min  1. 

Oft  he  points  to  the  heavens,  to  the  beauties  of  Nature, — 

How  the  landscape  'tis  furnished  with  eye-pleasing  verdure; 

That  all  objects  evolving  some  beauty  disclose ; 

That  the  briery  stem  is  the  stem  of  the  rose. 

Thus  knowledge  objective  to  Man  is  conveyed 

In  the  wisdom  and  beauty  in  Nature  displayed. 

And  subjective  knowledge,  as  the  essence  of  thought, 

In  the  mind  of  the  seer  is  welded  and  wrought ; 

And  twain  become  one  in  the  travail  of  birth, 

As  heaven  is  brought  from  the  skies  to  our  earth. 

Good  friend,  good  steed,  this  lane  we  will  enter 

In  fancy, — 'twas  all  that  I  promised,  the  Muse  should  be  mentor 

That  she's  coy  and  uncertain  I  need  not  rehearse, 

Oft  confounding  the  poet  and  confounding  his  verse. 

And  so  oft  quacks  have  woo'd  her,  'tis  almost  a  crime 

To  jingle  in  verse  or  to  reason  in  rhyme. 

Let  the  critic,  then,  guard  with  his  terrible  skill, 

For  his  trade,  as  the  doctor's,  'tis  to  cure  or  to  kill. 

This  gate  we  will  ope, — 'tis  the  home  of  my  friend, — 

With  no  fear  in  the  mind  'twill  his  privacy  offend. 

Look  around  and  observe  the  neatness  and  order, 

The  trees  in  the  lane  that  range  on  the  border. 

Look  o'er  the  fence:  the  sod,  how  nicely  prepared; 

The  clover  and  timothy  evenly  mixed  in  the  sward. 


32  THE   PLEASURES   OF  HOME. 

See  the  kine  in  the  meadow,  in  the  stream  to  their  knees, 
There  chewing  their  cud  and  enjoying  the  breeze. 
In  contemplation  they  seem  lost  while  preparing  their  store, 
The  ambrosial  delicious  which  they  contentedly  pour 
Into  the  pail  of  the  maiden, — that  nectarous  draught, 
That  golden  luxury  which  fair  hands  have  wrought. 

The  corn  'tis  just  tassel'd,  just  showing  the  ear; 

The  crop  has  been  nurtured  and  cultured  with  care. 

Its  future  'tis  now  left  to  good  fences  and  heaven, 

That  the  showers  of  July  may  be  plenteously  given. 

For  mowing  times  over,  the  tall  timothy  gathered, 

The  wheat  'tis  all  stacked,  and  the  gleanings  are  garnered, 

And  the  farmers  all  ready  and  anxious  for  showers 

To  revive  the  parched  plants  and  nourish  the  flowers, 

Noting  each  change,  each  rumbling  of  thunder, 

Querying  of  neighbor,  Will  it  rain,  I  much  wonder? 

O  Rain  !  thou  art  a  commodity  sadly  abused  ; 

And  as  for  predicting  thy  vapors,  'tis  confusion  confused. 

In  foul  weather  thou  rain'st  without  the  least  trouble  ; 

But  when  raining's  ne'er  the  fashion,  the  thunders  may  rumble, 

The  lightnings  may  flash,  but  ne'er  a  drop  doth  appear. 

Thou  art  sadly  abused,  'specially  in  the  spring  of  the  year ; 

But  in  the  heat  of  July  thou  rejoiceth  the  farmers, 

Thou  gladdens  their  hearts,  put'th  corn  in  their  garners. 

The  farmers  are  now  engaged  in  that  rich  mine  of  gold, 
The  barnyard  manure,  with  its  treasures  untold. 
This  they're  hauling  and  spreading,  for  the  wheat  crop  pre- 
paring, 

And  no  expense,  toil,  or  trouble  they're  sparing. 
The  glebe  is  broke  twice  and  tilled  with  great  care 
Ere,  O  generous  Mother,  generative  and  fair, 
Erst  the  seed  is  committed  to  thy  bounteous  breast, 
Fondly  trusting  to  thee  the  germ  will  be  blessed. 


THE   PLEASURES   OF  HOME.  33 

Ye  great  and  exalted,  when  you  tread  the  sweet  leas, 
Do  you  look  with  contempt  on  such  pleasures  as  these  ? 
The  worldling  may  boast  of  his  treasures  of  gold  ; 
But  more  real  pleasure  such  scenes  they  unfold. 
The  merchant  may  glory  in  his  ships  on  the  main, 
May  boast  of  the  riches  his  storehouses  contain. 
The  demagogue  may  strive,  with  promises  alluring. 
A  good  place  for  himself  and  the  dear  people  securing. 
The  lawyer  may  devise  fables  his  clients  to  please, 
Caring  naught  for  the  truth,  so  he  pockets  his  fees. 


But  give  me  the  joy  that  the  farmer's  life  brings, 

The  pleasures  and  treasures  that  from  such  a  lot  springs, — 

To  furrow  the  sod  in  the  freshness  of  morn, 

To  see  beauty  unfolding  in  the  green  growing  corn  ; 

To  hear  the  chatting  of  catbird  on  the  blossoming  bough, 

Whilst  following  with  blithe  heart  behind  the  brave  plough  ; 

To  delve,  O  Mother  Earth,  in  thy  bosom  generous  and  kind, 

With  heart  responsive  to  thine,  by  Nature  refined. 

O'er  the  fruit-garden  we'll  now  look,  if  you  please, 

And  see  the  care  which  my  friend  bestows  on  his  trees. 

Here's  the  quince  and  the  pear,  both  the  standard  and  dwarf, 

Secured  by  yon  hedge  from  the  winds  of  the  north. 

There's  the  peach,  the  cherry,  and  the  apricot,  too  ; 

The  nectarine,  the  plum,  both  the  yellow  and  blue. 

On  each  tree  in  the  garden  is  a  calabash  hung  : 

There  the  old    birds  have  nested  and  brought  forth   their 

young. 

Thus  cared  for,  they  sing  with  their  hearts  full  of  glee, 
Destroying  the  insect,  thus  protecting  the  tree. 
In  safety  they  wing  o'er  the  fruit-embowered  grove, 
In  rapture  so  winning  they  chant  of  their  love. 
Oft,  beauteous  songsters,  you've  delighted  my  eye 
Whilst  teaching  your  fledglings  their  first  lessons  to  fly, 


34 


THE  PLEASURES   OF  HOME. 


As,  fluttering  on  short  flights,  coaxing  the  untried  wing, 
With  your  chirping  and  chattering  you've  made  the  grove 

ring. 

Blessings  on  thee,  blithe  songster,  blessed  gift  unto  Man, 
Much-loved  present  of  heaven,  unfolding  God's  plan. 
Thou  mind'st  me  of  Paradise  and  the  cherubim's  wing, 
As  with  praise  and  thanksgiving,  gentle  birdling,  you  sing. 
And  when  you  wander  forth,  oh  !  return  hither  again, 
Return  to  these  groves  and  rehearse  your  sweet  strain. 
For  again,  fairest  warbler,  I'd  hear  thee  prolong 
The  song  thou  just  sung,  that  soul-cheering  song. 
Gentle  solace  it  had,  sweet  bird,  for  my  breast, 
For  ofttime  indeed  has  thy  presence  been  blest. 
Oh,  then,  hither  return  and  again  build  thy  nest. 
Here  in  these  bowers  thou  shalt  in  safety  remain, 
Here  Cruelty's  hand  shall  ne'er  plan  thy  bane. 
Hide,  hide  behind  thee  thy  weapon  !     Taint,  taint  not  the 

air, 

And  pollute  not  with  thy  presence  this  garden  so  fair. 
Shame,  shame  on  thee,  fowler!     Shame,  shame  on  thy  art ! 
Blush,  blush  for  thy  manhood  !  Oh,  call  it  not  sport, 
And  hasten  that  day  when  the  law  shall  protect, 
When  the  people  shall  rise  and  shall  justly  inflict 
On  these  destroyers  of  robins  and  birds  winged  with  blue, 
And  shall  penalty  inflict  as  the  punishment  due; 
When  the  farmer  his  interest  shall  justly  consider, 
And  secure  his  best  friends  from  the  prowling  marauder; 
When    lawns,    groves,    and   woodlands   shall    mourn    never- 
more, 

And  the  oriole  swing  safely  in  the  tall  sycamore ; 
When  again  shall  be  heard  poor  whip-poor-will's  note, 
When  the  song  shall  resound  from  the  swamp-robin's  throat, 
When  the  dove  shall  wing  safely  on  her  errand  of  love, 
And  the  woodcock  may  nestle  by  side  of  the  cove. 
Oh,  hasten  that  day  when  the  tiller  of  soil 
Shall  wilfulness  restrain  and  idleness  foil  1 


THE   PLEASURES   OF  HOME.  35 

When,  as  of  yore,  the  pheasant's  drum  shall  resound, 
And  the  coroneted  woodpecker  re-echo  the  sound; 
When  the  blackbird  shall  build  in  the  evergreen's  crest, 
And  ungrudgingly  take  whate'er  he  loves  best, — 
Perchance  'tis  a  grain.     But  cast  up  the  accounts, 
And  list  as  the  sable-plumed  warrior  recounts, 
As  he  vauntingly  tells  whilst  upward  he  mounts, 
How  oft  he  has  swooped  on  the  grub  in  the  corn, 
How  myriads  of  insects  he  has  unpityingly  torn. 
Remember,  O  Farmer,  the  good  he  has  done, 
And  return  to  the  rafter  that  cherished  old  gun. 

And,  O  Husbandman,  spare  that  bush  by  the  rill, 
That  clump  in  the  meadow,  that  cedar  on  the  hill, 
That  the  birds  o'er  thy  land  a  shelter  may  find. 
Thus,  Yeoman,  use,  use  thy  reason,  act  not  as  one  blind, 
But  plant  the  hedge  by  the  wayside  :  thou  shalt  reap  thy  re- 
ward. 

From  the  grub  and  the  wire-worm  the  birdling  will  guard  ; 
He  will  sing  on  the  bough  and  protect  thy  young  trees, 
Whilst  thou  reap'st  the  wheat  or  enjoys' t  thy  ease. 
While  thou  sleep's!  at  morn  or  nap'st  at  noon, 
The  robin  will  thank  thee  with  his  blithe,  merry  tune  ; 
He  will  tap  at  thy  window,  and  perch  at  thy  shed, 
Will  bless  thee  from  'neath  his  bosom  of  red. 

But  if  thou  fail'st  thus  to  care  for  thy  friends, 

Thou  shalt  reap  a  sore  harvest,  shall  reap  the  whirlwinds  ! 

In  thy  orchard  the  borer  shall  unmolestedly  root, 

And  the  caterpillar  prey  on  the  tender  young  shoot ; 

The  grasshopper  will  hatch  and  lead  forth  her  brood, 

While  thy  oxen  shall  low  in  vain  for  their  food. 

Thou  shalt  want  bread  for  thy  household,  and  grass  for  thy 

kine ; 

Plagues  as  of  Egypt  shall,  Farmer,  be  thine 
If  thou  leav'st  the  songster  uncared  for  to  pine  ! 


36  THE  PLEASURES   OF  HOME. 

To  yonder  right  in  profusion  is  seen 
Vegetables  and  flowers,  cabbage,  lettuce,  and  bean. 
The  small  fruits,  as  the  raspberry  and  strawberry  rare, 
These  my  friend  has  selected  and  cultured  with  care. 
And  here  are  the  herbs, — balm,  sage,  and  thyme. 
Again,  city  friend,  thou  smil'st  at  my  rhyme.  ' 

But  criticise  not  too  closely,  thus  quiet  my  fears, 

And  a  prescription  I'll  give  thee, — 'twill  lengthen  thy  years. 

'Tis  this:  Take  frequent  draughts  of  chamomile  tea, — 

'Twill  help  thy  pale  face,  and  from  headache  'twill  free. 

For  the  heartache,  ofttimes  with  Nature  commune; 

List  to  her,  to  her  melodious,  harmonical  tune. 

Oft  roam  with  her  in  the  green,  grassy  lanes, 

In  the  garden,  the  grotto,  the  groves,  and  the  plains  ; 

Thy  soul  she  will  quicken  with  her  inspiring  mood 

As  thou  wander'st  with  her  in  loved  solitude. 

By  the  side  of  the  rivulet  that  flows  in  the  meadow, 

As  thou  standest  on  the  brink,  'neath  the  willow-tree's  shadow, 

List  to  waters  as  o'er  the  tiny  cataract  they  tumble  : 

Music  thou  wilt  hear  midst  the  foam  and  the  rumble. 

Look  all  around  thee :   thou  wilt  everywhere  find 

That  Nature  has  music  to  the  well-attuned  mind. 

Gaze  o'erhead,  and  with  list'ning  ear 

Hear  the  grand  cadence,  melodious  and  clear. 

Unstop  thy  deaf  senses;  thy  soul  shall  awaken, 

Thy  light  shall  arise.     Thou  art  not  forsaken  ! 

Observe  thou  the  planets,  as  they  harmoniously  roll. 
For  thee  they  were  made, — mayhap  the  home  of  thy  soul. 
Walk  forth  in  the  forest,  and  'neath  the  wide-spreading  shade 
See  the  beauty  that  decks  the  leaves  as  they  fade. 

Seek  the  sweet-scented  lily  ;  it  neither  toils  nor  it  spins. 
Quaff  its  delicate  fragrance,  'twill  ease  thy  heart-pains. 


THE   PLEASURES   OF  HOME.  37 

List  to  the  tame  bee  and  mark  her  swift  flight; 
Follow  her  to  her  cell, — not  her  happiness  to  blight, 
But  to  witness  her  felicity  in  the  thickly-settled  hive, — 
See  the  concert  of  effort,  how  the  community  thrive. 
These  lessons  of  Nature,  not  in  vain  were  they  sent ; 
True  happiness  learn,  O  Man  :   'tis  content. 


x. 

Walk  forth,  says  my  friend,  ere  the  sun  has  arisen. 

See  the  purple  and  gold  that  spans  the  horizon  ; 

See  the  plumage  of  birds  and  the  beauty  of  form 

In  the  dewdrop  that  bathes  the  face  of  the  morn. 

See  the  blossoms  of  spring  and  the  glory  of  autumn. 

Ah,  if  men  would  but  look  to  what  Wisdom  has  taught  them, 

Would  but  yield  unto  her  implicit  submission, 

Thus  their  destiny  fulfilling,  their  glorious  mission  ! 

And  on  this  theme — the  mission  of  Man — 
My  friend  has  his  formula  of  Infinitude's  plan. 
Says  he,  God  in  His  goodness  never  designed 
But  happiness  and  increase  to  the  imperishable  mind. 
He  points  to  that  great  bond  of  unfathomable  love 
Which  encircles  us  round,  from  below  and  above. 
That,  tho'  different  from  matter,  from  animals  dissimilar, 
Unlike  the  planets,  the  Pleiades,  or  e'en  distant  star, 
Which  are  governed  by  instinct  or  laws  that  are  fixed, 
That  man's  condition  is  twofold,  'tis  varied,  'tis  mixed. 
To  the  body  of  Nature  his  physique  is  allied  ; 
Automatic  herein  varied  wants  are  supplied. 
But  his  Consciousness  'tis  free,  and  before  him  are  set 
Two  roads,  which,  tho'  forked,  yet  in  the  end  meet. 
That  Man's  like  the  fabled  companion  of  Ulysses, — 
Can  be  changed  if  he  listens  to  the  voice  of  the  Circes. 
Like  Eurylochus,  be  changed  from  the  man  to  the  brute  ; 
Or  as  Arion,  who  was  saved  by  the  sweet  notes  of  his  lute, 

4 


38  THE  PLEASURES   OF  HOME. 

Which  had  charms  that  allured  e'en  the  Dolphin's  ear, 

And  brought  them  together  at  the  vessel's  side  near. 

E'en  so  is  that  music  which  in  sweet  numbers  flow, 

Which  breathes  in  man's  soul  with  cadence  gentle  and  low, 

Charming  the  lion,  the  tiger,  the  wolf,  and  the  bear, 

That  a  little  child  may  lead  them  with  no  thought  of  fear. 

The  affections  (says  he)  are  as  seraphim's  note, 

Which  Reason  should  learn,  should  learn  as  by  rote. 

Thus  man  can  be  ONE,  and  true  harmony  find 

In  tranquillity,  peace,  and  calmness  of  mind. 

In  youth,  says  my  friend,  should  these  be  combined, 

For  the  mind  of  the  child  'tis  as  blank  sheet  of  paper, 

And  childhood  the  time  for  culture  and  labor. 

The  heart  is  then  plastic  as  clay  to  the  potter, 

The  mother  the  tutor,  with  God  to  inspire  her. 

This  the  clue  which  will  unravel  the  thread,— 

This  through  the  Cretan  labyrinth  Ariadne  led, — 

The  affections  !  they're  the  hope  of  our  race  ; 

What  is  written  by  them  time  can  ne'er  efface. 

Says  my  friend,  'tis  the  first  years  of  childhood, 

The  first  ten,  that  influence  most  for  ill  or  for  good ; 

These  bias  the  greatest  in  Man's  education, 

For  weal  or  for  woe  in  life's  preparation. 

Hence,  says  he,  the  great  need  of  Home, 

Where  the  thoughts  of  the  wanderer  ever  may  roam, — 

Of  childhood's  sweet  home,  the  scene  of  joy  and  of  bliss; 

Of  a  father's  loved  councils,  a  mother's  caress, — 

An  oasis  in  the  desert.     Such  memories  they  smile; 

They  dawn  from  afar  and  from  evil  beguile, 

Throw  their  loved  shadows  the  vale  of  life  o'er, 

Illuming  the  soul  on  Faith's  distant  shore  ; 

Whilst  the  mind  'tis  enraptured  with  Home's  much-loved 

scene, 

With  its  pleasures  and  treasures  unalloyed  and  serene. 
Where  these  bind  the  heart  with  their  amarantnine  chain, 
'Tis  as  consolation  in  grief  and  as  solace  in  pain, — 


THE  PLEASURES   OF  HOME.  39 

'Tis  as  fountain  at  foot  of  Helicon's  mount  ; 

But  ne'er  to  Muse  or  Apollo  is  consecrated  that  fount, 

That  pure  fountain  of  feeling  which  perennial  flows. 

O  sweet  source  of  bliss,  loved  soother  in  all  our  woes  !. 

In  thy  balmy  dews  the  wanderer  may  lave, 

And  find  that  blessed  healing  thy  waters  erst  gave. 

XI. 

But  let  us  away  from  grove,  grotto,  and  stream  ; 
Let  us  enter  the  Home,  let  that  be  our  theme. 
Let  us  cease  the  philosophic,  the  moralizing  strain, 
And  sing  of  sweet  Home,  free  from  sorrow  and  pain. 
For  a  more  happy  sight  ne'er  to  mortals  is  given 
Than  a  well-ordered  Home, — 'tis  a  foretaste  of  heaven  ! 
The  sire,  the  head  of  this  Home,  is  by  culture  refined, 
Hospitable,  warm,  sincere,  yet  firm  is  his  mind. 
His  dwelling,  tho'  spacious,  yet  no  grandeur  displays; 
'Twas  heje  his  father  before  him  ended  his  days. 
My  friend  is  not  rich  in  lands  or  in  funds, — 
A  few  thousands  at  interest,  a  few  hundred  in  bonds, 
These,  with  his  farm, — just  seventy  acres, — comprise  his  es- 
tate. 

Riches  greater  than  these  he  ne'er  strove  to  create, 
And  labored  not  for  mere  pelf,  for  treasures  of  gold, — 
'Twas  not  the  bent  of   his  mind,   'twas    ne'er  cast  in  that 

mould. 

In  years  of  his  life,  just  threescore  and  ten,' 
Opportunity  was  not  wanting  ;  but  ne'er  would  he  listen 
To  the  voice  of  the  Siren,  who  promised  great  wealth 
To  be  suddenly  amassed,  without  labor  or  tilth. 
To  the  voice  of  the  temptress  he  turned  a  deaf  ear, 
Howe'er  plausible  her  story,  or  specious  she'd  appear; 
For  many  barks  had  he  seen  on  Life's  ocean  bereft 
Of  mast,  sail,  and  anchor,  on  the  wild  wave  adrift. 
They'd  sailed  forth  in  the  morn  full  of  gladness  and  glee, 
But  ere  eve  were  a  wreck  on  Speculation's  deep  sea. 


40  THE  PLEASURES   OF  HOME. 

Oft  he  said  all  true  wealth  must  come  from  the  earth, 
That  honor  and  virtue  'tis  the  mind's  greatest  worth, 
That  content  is  the  secret,  happiness  the  prize, 
And  heaven  the  goal  toward  which  we  should  rise. 
These  he  strove  to  inculcate  by  example  and  precept, 
These  the  lessons  he  taught,  in  this  pathway  he  kept. 

And  his  children  around  him  grew,  an  honor  and  stay, 
A  hope  and  a  blessing,  as  his  days  ebbed  away. 
We'll  glance  at  his  home.     He's  two  sons  and  a  daughter ; 
She's  single  as  yet, — tho'  many  have  sought  her, — 
And  all  language  'tis  feeble,  and  faltering  my  verse, 
As  her  graces  I  type  and  her  virtues  rehearse. 
Sweet  Ellen  !  in  Memory's  niche  thou  art  placed. 
In  form  she  was  perfected  and  draped  with  taste, 
Her  cheek  slightly  kissed  by  the  sun's  golden  ray, — 
The  rose  and  the  lily  both  sought  for  display. 
The  brown,  'twas  the  sun's  and  the  soft  summer's  air; 
They'd  printed  their  trace  on  brow  and  bosom  as  fair 
As  poet's  maiden  Lenore,  radiant  and  rare. 
In  her  sweet  face  health's  roses  beamed, 
And  in  the  blue  of  her  eye  intelligence  gleamed; 
'Neath  a  sun-bonnet  of  blue  stole  a  bright  golden  curl. 
Ne'er  of  daughter  was  prouder  a  duke  or  an  earl 
Than  my  old  friend,  as  he  watched  her  so  merrily  tripping, 
With  her  little  niece  by  the  hand,  from  the  dairy-house  skip- 
ping ; 

For  Ellen  had  a  care  besides  her  flowers  and  the  household. 
A  brother  was  missing,  a  loved  son,  from  the  fold  ; 
The  dread  Archer  had  levelled,  unerringly  aimed, 
And  the  uncertainty  of  life  o'er  the  household  proclaimed. 
Of  father  and  mother  by  one  fell  blow  bereft, 
And  to  Ellen's  nurture  and  care  a  darling  child  left. 

Oh,  oft  have  I  looked,  sweet  childhood,  on  thee, 

As  thou  skip'st  o'er  the  green,  light-hearted  and  free; 


THE   PLEASURES    OF  HOME.  4I 

Oft  gazed  in  thy  eyes  of  unfathomable  blue, 

Noting  each  emotion,  tender  and  true. 

There's  deep  meaning  in  thy  soft  loving  eyes, 

Denoting  each  feeling, — now  wonder,  now  surprise; 

E'en  thy  wilfulness  but  enhances  thy  grace 

As  each  shadow  is  cast  on  thy  sweet  tiny  face. 

Oft  thy  dimpled  cheek  to  my  bosom  I've  pressed, 

And  round  my  neck  I've  received  thy  tender  caress. 

The  rose  it  is  sweet,  the  lily  'tis  fair, 

But  the  rose  or  the  lily  they  ne'er  can  compare, 

Loved  babe,  to  thy  brow,  to  thy  bosom  of  snow. 

In  innocence,  sweet  gem,  erst  mayst  thou  grow  ! 

May  adverse  winds  waft  over  thee  lightly, 

And  the  season  of  youth  pass  over  thee  brightly  ! 

'Tis  eve  :  little  Bess  is  seated  on  her  grandfather's  knee, 

With  both  hands  in  his  pockets,  after  the  knife  or  the  key. 

There  he  playfully  sits,  much  amused  by  her  prattle, 

In  his  usual  place  (after  tea)  on  the  old  oaken  settle, 

Telling  some  simple  story  which  her  hands  have  beguiled 

From  his  pockets.     'Tis  ever  thus  with  the  child  ! 

She's  forgotten  the  spectacles,  the  knife,  and  the  key, 

And  is  now  laughing  and  clapping,  with  her  heart  full  of  glee, 

Over  the  oft-told  theme  about  "  Mother  Hubbard," 

Or  that  other  old  lady  with  no  bread  in  her  cupboard. 

Bess  has  heard  this  related  ofttimes  before. 

She's  ne'er  satisfied  yet :   "  More  stories,  grandfather,  more." 

He  varies  somewhat,  'tis  now  of  the  "Little  Old  Man," 

Or  "  Shove  it  in  the  oven  as  fast  as  you  can." 

O  Childhood  !  sweet  Childhood,  blessed  condition, 
Thou  little  miniature  lass,  sweet  maidenhood's  scion, 
May  thy  pathway  in  life  be  strewed  o'er  with  flowers, 
Thus  thy  childhood  be  passed  'midst  Affection's  fair  bowers  ! 

But  hark  !  'twas  a  knock  ;  'tis  caught  Ellen's  quick  ear. 
John  opens  the  door ;  a  manly  form  doth  appear, 

4* 


42  THE  PLEASURES   OF  HOME. 

His  face  all  aglow  as  he  salutes  his  old  friends, 

Shakes  hands  with  them  all.     Toward  Ellen  he  bends, 

A  greeting  confused  'twixt  rudeness  and  shame. 

With  a  glow  on  his  cheek,  he  scarce  mentions  her  name, 

But  is  soon  chatting  with  her  brothers  about  the  state  of  the 

weather,  — 

About  the  time  there  has  been — yes,  weeks  altogether — 
That  the  heavens  seemed  sealed,  the  earth  all  aglow. 
The  pastures  are  parched  ;  oh,  that  the  torrents  would  flow  ! 
That   the  farmers  (quoth  Ben)  the  golden  wheat  could  be 

sowing ; 

For  neighbor  Smith  says  ne'er  a  grain  will  be  growing, 
That  while  the  soil  is  thus  parched  'tis  folly  to  furrow. 
This,  says  he,  they  who  try  it  will  find  to  their  sorrow: 
That  the  germ  'twill  sprout  and  then  wither  away. 
So  till  it  rains,  says  he,  let  the  seed  lay. 
Would  it  not  be  better,  father,  that  we  also  delay? 

Nay,  my  son,  delay  not ;  'tis  the  sluggards'  excuse, 
Who  lavish  on  Nature  without  stint  their  abuse. 
Nothing  can  suit  them  ;  they  keep  a  perpetual  outcry, — 
The  seasons  !  the  weather  !   'tis  too  wet,  cold,  or  dry  ! 
To  these  perpetual  grumblers  there's  nothing  aright;   . 
In  the  spring  'tis  the  fly,  in  the  summer  the  blight. 
Now,  my  son,  this  drought  'tis  doubtless  designed 
For  a  purpose  that's  good  by  the  Infinite  mind. 
'Tis  by  this  means  the  earth  a  respite  obtains 
From  the  exhaustion  that's  caused  by  too  frequent  rains, 
And  particles  of  nourishment  in  the  subsoil  below 
To  the  surface,  by  absorption,  with  facility  will  flow. 
Thus  Providence  adapts,  Nature  seeks  to  comply, 
And  the  medium  'tis  established  'twixt  waste  and  supply. 
Depend  on  it,  my  son,  Nature  ne'er  is  uncertain; 
Her  laws  are  self-acting,  never  fruitless  or  vain. 
And  tho'  Man's  finite  reason  can  ne'er  comprehend, 
Yet  God  has  in  all  things  shaped  the  means  to  the  end. 


THE  PLEASURES  OF  HOME.  43 

The  heat  of  the  summer,  the  bleak  winds  of  spring, 

All  have  their  purpose,  each  blessings  bring. 

Is  it  not,  then,  great  presumption  and  folly  in  Man 

Thus,  captious,  to  cavil  at  Infinitude's  plan? 

For  law  is  prescribed  to  matter  and  space, 

Each  world  in  its  orbit,  each  star  in  its  place; 

The  mist,  the  sea,  the  clouds,  and  the  earth 

Are  all  pre-evolved  in  Nature's  sure  birth. 

With  her  grandfather's  voice  Bess's  here  blended; 

The  lecture  'twas  shortened,  the  contention  'twas  ended. 

For  a  baby  so  well  bred,  certainly  'twas  rude 

To  dissent  thus  so  pointed  from  what  she  ne'er  understood. 

Grandfather  soothed,  he  reasoned,  he  smiled, 

And  though  the  temper  Bessie  displayed  'twas  neither  gentle 

nor  mild, 

Yet  'twas  not  in  his  heart  to  thwart  the  dear  orphaned  child. 
Nonplussed  was  his  philosophy,  'twas  confounded,  'twas  foiled, 
Subdued  and  o'ercome  by  a  child  that'd  been  spoiled. 
Her  rights  she  asserted,  the  gauntlet  threw  down, 
Unappeased  by  a  promise,  unawed  by  a  frown. 
She  was  weary  and  sleepy  and  wanted  her  bed, 
Was  tired  of  dry  talk,  thus  snapped  the  argument's  thread. 
Her  grandfather  soothed,  and  soon  with  flying  feet 
The  angel  came  and  lull'd  to  visions  sweet. 
O  Sleep  !  gentle,  balmy,  dewy  Sleep  ! 
As  o'er  our  wearied  senses  thy  numbing  opiates  creep, 
With  healing,  sweet  healing  on  their  wing, 
And  o'er  Thought's  temple  their  rich  curtains  fling, 
With  downy  softness  on  each  fold  replete. 
And  tho'  Life  and  Death  in  shadows  meet, 
And  steep  in  wondrous  and  mysterious  dreams, 
And  tho'  dead  to  thought,  yet  sensation  gleams, 
And  o'erflowing  fills  with  magic  light 
The  mind's  cathedral,  and  fancies  bright 
Pour  forth  with  dazzling  beam, 
And  things  are  not  what  they  seem. 


44 


7 HE  PLEASURES   OF  HOME. 


Loved  art  thou,  O  Sleep,  in  youth  or  in  age  ; 

All  joys  thou  increaseth  and  all  sorrows  assuage. 

All,  all  know  thy  gentle,  thy  loving  embrace. 

Yes,  thy  blessings  are  unnumbered,  impartial  thy  grace. 

While  Bessie  was  cradled  at  her  grandfather's  side, 
Edward  and  Ellen,  on  Love's  buoyant  tide, 
Walked  o'er  the  garden,  and  'neath  the  moon's  silver  ray. 
Silent  they  paced,  while  the  youth  made  essay 
To  speak  of  the  thought  he'd  resolved  on  that  day, 
Which  he'd  resolved  on  before;  but  his  tongue  disobeyed 
The  impulse  of  thought.     Tho'  bold,  he  was  afraid. 
Love  made  him  a  coward,  and  ne'er  could  he  tell 
For  the  force  of  the  torrent  that  gushed  in  the  well ; 
But  his  intent  was  now  fixed, — he'd  broke  through  the  spell 
That  enthralled,  had  conn'd  in  his  mind  a  love-lit  oration, 
In  reply  to  which  depended,  he  thought,  his  salvation. 
"Twas  this  so  abashed  him  when  he  entered  the  door 
That  he  scarce  knew  e'en  he  stood  on  his  head  or  the  floor. 
The  hour  had  arrived  ;  he  breathed  short  and  fleet. 
The  heart  in  his  bosom  loud,  loud  did  it  beat. 
*  *  *  *  #  #  *  * 

XII. 

The  birds  no  longer  thrill  the  vernal  grove, 
No  longer  loudly  tell  their  faithful  love  ; 
But  stilled  is  note  of  robin,  sparrow,  and  the  dove. 
Above,  beneath,  around,  unnumbered  fire-flies  flit, 
And  o'er  the  garden  silently  their  magic  light  emit. 
The  bat,  as  if  rejoicing  in  the  soft  and  balmy  air, 
Rejoicing  that  the  hour  had  come  to  quit  his  daily  lair, 
He  lingered  round  the  arbor,  as  if  list'ning  there. 
Oh,  blessed  hour  of  eve  !     Enchantment  reigns, 
And  balmy  dews  refresh  the  sultry  plains. 
The  placid  light  of  moon  is  on  the  wane, 
And,  lo  !   'tis  Venus  with  her  vestal  train. 


THE  PLEASURES   OF  HOME.  45 

On  her  the  lovers  gaze,  enraptured  gaze, 
And  silent  watch  her  quiet,  mystic  ways. 
Edward,  if  through  fear  he'd  been  remiss, 
Has  told  his  Hope,  and  all,  all  is  bliss. 

O  Love,  when  thou  art  pure  as  that  in  Edward's  breast, 
Upgushing  from  the  heart  and  by  the  soul  expressed, 
Thy  possessor  is  of  fortune,  of  fortune  rare  possesst. 
Poor  he  may  be,  yet  ne'er  in  Golconda's  mine 
Are  richer  rubies,  none  more  brilliant  shine 
Than  Love's  jewels,  reset  at  Hymen's  shrine. 

Years  have  fled  since  within  that  garden's  pale 

Edward  unto  Ellen  breathed  the  tender  tale, 

Years  have  passed,  and  now,  in  cot,  in  green'st  vale, 

Love  has  blossomed,  and,  lo  !  a  full-blown  rose 

Has  bloomed.    There  in  those  glades  doth  wedded  love  repose, 

Secluded  there,  sequestered  from  life's  busy,  bustling  crowd, 

Hid  from  the  curious,  prying  eye,  hid  from  the  vain  and  proud. 

There  oft  beside  the  social,  cheerful,  friendly  fire, 

There  much  I  love  to  chat,  at  times  I  oft  retire, 

And  witness  Hymen's  guileless,  undivided  joys, 

See  smiling  Industry  that  each  passing  hour  employs, 

As  bee,  in  culling  bliss  from  fairest,  sweetest  flowers. 

Yes,  in  that  vale  there  blooms  Houstonian  bowers. 

Nightshade  'tis  not  cultured,  nor  oleander  grows, 

Nor  envy,  nor  ambition  clog  the  current  as  it  flows ; 

But,  peacefully  meandering  on  the  tranquil  stream  of  Life, 

No  deaf'ning  cataract's  roar  allures  to  scenes  of  strife. 

Ne'er  has  city's  din  one  charm  for  Edward's  eye, 

Nor  luxury's  pomp  e'er  caused  in  Ellen's  breast  a  sigh. 

Pledges,  three  pledges  from  the  treasury  of  heaven, 

Three  blessed  gifts,  these,  these  have  been  given. 

Ellen  has  known  a  mother's  joy,  a  mother's  care  and  bliss, 

And  Edward  felt  at  eve  a  cherub's  loving  kiss. 

Yes,  little  prattlers  run  "  to  lisp  their  sire's  return," 

And  Love  in  that  Home  its  altars  brightly  burn. 


THE   OLD   SENATE   CHAMBER. 

LINES  WRITTEN  ON  THE  OCCASION  OF  A  VISIT  TO  WASH- 
INGTON    IN   1860. 


WITHIN  the.se  walls  have  sounded 

Thoughts,  immortal  thoughts,  which  will  survive 
The  mottled-marble  columns,  firmly  grounded 

On  their  base,  which,  protecting,  give 
Their  massive  strength  to  uphold  a  dome 

Grander  than  the  Ephesian  reared, 
Or  that  which  graced  the  Capitol  at  Rome 

In  palmy  days,  when  she  appeared 
As  mistress,  ruling  by  the  sceptre  and  the  rod 
The  nations  round,  who  trembled  at  her  nod. 

II. 

Massive  ruins  still  evince  and  prove 

The  Coliseum's  glory,  the  Pantheon's  pride. 
O'er  Rome,  Athens,  Carthage  we  may  rove, 

They  all  attest  to  Time's  unceasing  tide, — 
Rolling  on,  relentless  in  its  sway, 

Engulfing  the  proudest  monuments  of  art, 
And  sweeping  with  the  besom  of  decay 

Into  the  tomb,  smiting  with  Death's  dart 
Alike  Man,  his  science  and  his  skill, 
Before  Time's  unpitying,  relentless  will. 
46 


THE    OLD  SENATE   CHAMBER. 

III. 

The  hand  and  mind  of  Man  have  reared 

In  ancient  times  and  Science  smiled 
O'er  mighty  trophies,  which  have  appeared 

In  grandeur  'midst  the  desert  wild, 
And  yet  e'en  now  exist  in  Egypt's  sand. 

Art,  with  its  magic-working  wand, 
Has  reared  with  Sculpture's  cunning  hand, 

And  Glory  crowned  the  classic  land 
Of  Italy  with  wreaths  by  Fancy  spun, — 
Wreaths  which  Petrarch  and  Dante  won. 

IV. 

But  thou,  our  country's  Capitol,  to  thee ! 

Where  fair  Freedom  with  her  altars  new, 
Alone  now  standing,  baptized  to  Liberty 

By  sacred  recollections  not  a  few. 
And  as  the  eaglet  on  the  snow-clad  height 

Peers  proudly  from  the  mountain's  crest, 
So  waves  Columbia's  banner,  girt  with  light, 

A  star  of  Freedom,  gleaming  in  the  West, 
Borne  on  the  breeze,  floating  o'er  the  sea, 
The  emblem  of  Union,  the  flag  of  the  free  ! 

v. 

O'er  the  Capitol  floats  that  starry  banner. 

Long  may  it  wave,  Columbia's  thine  ! 
'Tis  the  patriot's  hope,  the  patriot's  prayer. 

Long  may  the  stars  of  Freedom  shine  ! 
And  though  beneath  the  waves  of  high  debate, 

As  the  Atlantic's,  surging  meet  and  fall, 
And  thoughts  pregnant  with  an  empire's  fate 

Echo  through  the  Senate  Hall, — 
Speech  eloquent,  majestic,  stately,  grand, 
Conveyed  by  wings  of  lightning  o'er  the  land. 


47 


THE    OLD   SENATE    CHAMBER. 

VI. 

O  Eloquence !  majestic  is  thy  art, 

And  wondrous  is  thy  skill  to  move. 
Thou  hast  a  spell  to  dull  the  heart 

With  hate  or  woo  the  soul  to  love  ; 
And  now  as  when  the  Athenian  thundered, 

Or  when  Paul  declared  the  Word, 
And  Felix  saw  and  tremblingly  wondered 

(Though  to  his  convenience  he  still  deferred). 
Yet  Paul  the  Light  of  Life  unsealed, 
And  Felix  felt  that  Power  revealed. 

VII. 

Pause  !   thy  step  is  now  on  classic  ground. 

Within  this  hall  the  clarion  voice  of  Clay 
Has  pealed  and  sounded  round 

The  walls.     Oft  in  the  stirring  affray 
I've  watched  that  gallant  chieftain's  plume, — 

Thou  wast  my  first,  my  youthful  choice. 
But  now,  alas  !  within  the  silent  tomb, 

By  Death  is  stilled  thy  magic  voice. 
No  more  its  silver  tones  will  roll 
O'er  the  land,  to  move  and  thrill  the  soul. 

VIII. 

Illustrious  man  !  patriot,  orator,  and  sage, 

Thy  memory  'tis  entombed  in  the  hearts 
Of  thy  countrymen,  and  History's  living  page 

Will  tell  thy  nature's  wondrous  art 
To  move  and  magnetize  the  soul, 

Thy  power,  utterance,  and  marvellous  speech, 
That  moved  thy  hearers  and  controlled 

The  multitude  within  thy  reach. 
Thou  art  gone  !  not  forgotten,  but  endeared 
To  thousands,  loved,  honored,  and  revered. 


THE    OLD   SENATE   CHAMBER. 

IX. 

And  here, 'too,  thy  inimitable  compeer, 

Senator  from  the  land  of  flowers, 
Inflexible,  sedate,  severe,  austere, 

As  scornfully  above  all  deceit  he  towers, 
Smiting  with  weapon  keen  and  bright 

As  Saladin's  sabre.     With  no  weak  arm 
He  battled  for  what  he  deemed  the  right, 

Fearless  and  regardless  of  the  harm. 
'Twas  seen  and  felt,  in  his  career, 
His  dread  ideal  he  pursued  unmoved  by  fear. 

x. 

And  he,  our  charter's  great  defender, 

He  whom  New  England  loved  so  well, 
Columbia's  sons  shall  tribute  render 

And  his  mighty  prowess  tell. 
He  went  not  forth  to  the  battle  of  debate 

On  small  occasions,  but  when  he'd  tax 
His  mighty  energies  he  was  wondrous  great. 

Like  Coeur  de  Leon,  wielded  he  the  battle-axe 
With  might.     Yes,  his  opponent  reeled 
'Neath  blows  that  levelled  lance  and  shield. 

XI. 

Thy  sun  has  set,  but  thou  hast  left  behind 

Enough  for  mortal  man  to  leave. 
The  enduring  products  of  thy  gigantic  mind 

Are  deathless,  and  shall  ever  live 
Whilst  man  shall  speak  in  Shakespeare's  tongue, 

Whilst  shines  in  beauty  Freedom's  sun. 
Whilst  Milton's  graphic  verses  shall  be  sung, 

Or  laurel  wreaths  by  Genius  won, 
Shall  Freedom  praise  thy  mighty  aid, 
And  Eloquence  repose  beneath  thy  shade. 
5 


49 


5o  THE    OLD  SENATE  CHAMBER. 

XII. 
Illustrious  triumvirate,  wondrous  three  ! — 

America,  they  were  types  of  thine  ; 
Unsubdued  and  undaunted,  gallant  and  free, 

Firm  and  erect  as  the  evergreen  pine ! — 
Your  dust  now  guarded  by  your  native  mountains, 

Entombed  beneath  Columbia's  soil, 
Watered  by  the  gurgling  fountains 

In  the  land  for  which  you  toiled, 
In  the  hearts  of  millions  cherished, 
Your  virtues  live,  your  faults  have  perished. 

XIII. 

There,  not  distant  from  the  Speaker's  chair, 

There  Benton  sat,  the  lion-hearted, 
With  independent  mien  and  kingly  air, 

With  mind  unfettered  and  undaunted. 
Did  Faction  seek  to  bind  his  soul 

With  shackles,  or  with  "  Democratic  rules" 
To  fetter  his  conscience  or  control 

His  reason  ?     He  scorned  the  tools 
Of  Presidents.     Dire  Faction  ne'er  could  tame, 
Nor  Party  e'er  obscure  his  honor  or  his  fame. 

» 

XIV. 

Old  Hall !  thy  walls  have  ofttimes  echoed 

With  thought  and  word  now  told  by  pen, 
By  art  inscribed,  by  type  and  ode, 

The  genius  of  those  mighty  men, — 
Wright,  Clayton,  Webster,  Benton,  Clay, 

Calhoun,  Linn,  Macon,  and  the  rest. 
All,  all  have  gently  passed  away, 

All,  all  have  bowed  to  Death's  behest. 
Ye  rulers  who  direct  the  helm  of  state, 
Those  patriots'  zeal  for  country  imitate ; 
Shun,  shun  their  faults,  their  virtues  emulate. 


WILLIAM    PENN'S    HOLY  EXPERIMENT. 

READ  AT  THE  ANNIVERSARY  OF  THE  BI-CENTENNIAL  OF 
ABINGTON  MONTHLY  MEETING,  ON  FIRST  DAY,  TWELFTH 
MONTH  3,  1882.* 

PART   I. 

'MIDST  the  sylvan  scenes  of  England, 

As  the  autumn's  sun  shone  down, 
Struggling  thro'  the  misty  vapors 

Settled  densely  'round  the  town, 
Settled  o'er  the  spire  and  steeple, 

O'er  the  sweetly-scented  leas, 
Faintly  beams  the  morning  sun, 

Gently  wafts  the  ocean  breeze. 
Higher  in  his  flight  ascending, 

Onward  with  a  monarch's  sway, 
Upward  on  his  mission  wending, 

Melting  mist  with  glowing  ray. 


*  The  records  of  Abington  Monthly  Meeting  date  its  origin  back  to  the 
meeting  held  at  Shackamaxon  on  the  8th  of  Ninth  month,  1682,  which  ante- 
dates the  arrival  of  William  Penn.  That  meeting  was  held  in  part  "  in  order," 
it  is  stated,  "  to  appoint  other  meetings  where  it  may  be  thought  best  to  meet." 

After  the  arrival  of  Penn,  our  Monthly  Meeting  was  not  merged  into  the 
Philadelphia  Meeting,  as  some  seem  to  think  ;  but,  as  our  books  show,  Thomas 
Fairman,  when  he  removed  to  Tacony,  "  at  the  Governor's  request,  provided 
a  book  for  the  service  of  the  meeting."  Different  books  there  may  have  been, 
for  in  1719  George  Baon  was  directed  to  procure  the  one  now  in  our  posses- 
sion, transcribing  the  proceedings  therein  from  former  records. 

5' 


52  WILLIAM  PENWS  HOLY  EXPERIMENT. 

'Twas  on  a  peaceful  Sabbath  morn, 

In  a  quaint  old  English  town, 
Thus  baptized  in  vapors  dense 

As  the  slanting  rays  came  down. 
Nowhere  but  'neath  England's  skies 

Do  such  scenes  the  eye  delight, 
Nowhere  beams  the  sun's  bright  rays 

With  such  subdued  and  mellowed  light. 
In  her  noiseless,  tranquil  way, 

Nature  to  the  soul  reveal'd, 
And  on  that  quiet  Sabbath-day 

To  the  heart  and  mind  appeal'd. 


Beyond  the  village  quaint  and  old, 

There,  beneath  an  oak-tree's  shade, 
There  a  straw-roof'd  cot  was  reared, — 

In  ancient  times  such  cots  were  made ; 
Woodbines  old  adorned  the  walls, 

Roses  clustered  round  the  door, 
Age  and  moss  o'erlaid  the  floor, 

Laid  with  tiles  in  time  of  yore. 


Ope  the  door  and  walk  within. 

There  are  maid  and  matron  fair, 
Waiting  for  the  gift  divine  ; 

Adjusted  every  earthly  care, 
In  stillness  thus  endowed, 

There  in  quietude  engaged. 
Seated  there  in  tranquil  calm 

Upon  those  benches  quaint  and  aged, 
There  is  manhood  crowning  prime, 

There  are  locks  with  age  all  white, 
There  is  youth's  sweet  budding  time, 

Waiting  for  the  heavenly  light. 


WILLIAM  PENN'S  HOL  Y  EXPERIMENT.  53 

From  the  altar  of  each  soul 

Ascends  the  heartfelt  prayer  ; 
The  solemn  mien,  the  holy  calm 

Attested  God  was  there. 


After  stillness  for  a  time 

The  silence  now  was  broken, 
And  words  of  cheer  with  gospel  power 

By  William  Penn  were  spoken. 
Inspired  with  Christian  grace  and  truth, 

With  wisdom  from  above, 
Touched  with  tenderest  sympathy 

From  Fountain  source  of  love, 
As  with  live  coal  from  off  the  altar, 

Teaching  love  for  man,  our  brother. 
Tho'  in  life  he  oft  may  falter, 

Still  love  ye  always  one  another. 

Thus  the  speaker  earnest  spoke, 

Spoke  of  Christ,  the  light  within, 
Vouchsafed  to  all  mankind, 

Redeeming  every  soul  from  sin 
Who  loves  the  heavenly  Child,* 

Who  listens  and  obeys  His  voice, 
Which  leads  in  virtue's  narrow  path, 

Making  every  soul  rejoice 
In  the  glorious  victory  won  ! 

Resist  not,  then,  the  heavenly  vision, 
But  onward  in  the  rugged  path, 

The  path  pursued  to  land  Elysian  ! 


*  The  Society  of  Friends  have  been  much  misunderstood  in  consequence  of 
the  stress  which  they  have  ever  placed  upon  the  doctrine  and/act  of  "  regen- 
eration." Upon  this  subject  they  agree  with  Martin  Luther,  who  says,  "  Every 
Christian  may  enjoy  this  birth  of  Christ  not  less  than  if  he  also,  like  Jesus, 
were  born  bodily  of  the  Virgin  Mary.  Whoso  disbelieves  or  doubts  this,"  he 
says,  "  is  no  Christian." 

5* 


54  WILLIAM  PENN'S  HOL  Y  EXPERIMENT. 

That  promised  land  within  thee  lies, 
Look  thou  to  guide  within  : 

The  way  that  leads  to  Paradise 
Is  conquest  over  sin. 


The  preacher  paused,  as  burst  the  door, 

As  armed  men  filled  the  rustic  hall. 
"Seize,  seize  the  rogues  !"  the  captain  cried. 

"  Man  and  women,  seize  them  all ! 
Stop  that  prating  fellow's  mouth, 

The  babbler  vile,  the  uncouth  boor, 
Who  speaks  against  our  church  and  state  ! 

Let  him  o'er  the  tread-mill  tour. 
Cease  your  clack,  you  vile  blasphemer  ! 

What  have  you  done  indeed  ? 
A  pretty  question  that  to  ask. 

For  law  and  justice  you  would  plead  ? 
Leisure  plenty  you  shall  have, 

Full  twelve  months  or  so, 
To  study  England's  glorious  code, — 

To  Newgate,  ranter,  you  shall  go  !" 

Amidst  malefactors  vile 

Was  thus  unjustly  placed 
One  of  England's  greatest  sons 

That  e'er  her  annals  graced. 

Again  o'er  England's  sea-girt  isle 

Shone  the  sun's  dim  light, 
Glanced  a  moment  o'er  the  land, 

Then  vanished  from  the  sight. 
The  clouds  assumed  a  threat' ning  hue, 

From  Isle  of  Wight  to  Irish  Sea, 
And  Nature  seemed  herself  incensed 

At  England's  deep  iniquity. 


WILLIAM  PENN'S  HOL  Y  EXPERIMENT.  55 

From  Dover's  Strait  to  Solway's  Forth 

Roared  Heaven's  aerial  guns, 
From  Plymouth's  Sound  to  farthest  North 

The  torrents  poured  in  tuns. 
Oaks  which  had  centuries  bravely  stood, 

Their  time  had  come  at  last, 
Loosed  in  the  tempest's  fearful  roar, 

Seared  by  the  lightning's  blast. 

If  on  the  land  the  Storm  Spirit  raged 

With  a  fierce,  convulsive  motion, 
Terrific  was  the  mighty  force 

With  which  he  stirred  the  ocean. 
You  that  dwell  'midst  flocks  and  herds, 

That  dwell  in  the  earth's  content, 
Ah,  little  ye  know  the  mighty  power 

With  which  the  wild  waves  rent. 
Old  Neptune  spoke  in  every  surge 

That  lashed  Old  England's  shore ; 
The  lightning  leaped  from  cliff  to  cliff 

To  join  the  dreadful  roar. 
Two  hundred  sail  cleft  ocean's  wave,* — 

Thus  English  annals  tell, — 
The  waves  closed  o'er  those  hearts  so  brave 

And  tolled  their  funeral  knell. 

Nature  again  serenely  smiled, 

The  skies  were  clad  with  tints  of  blue  ; 
With  gentle  glance  the  sun  shone  down, 

With  beams  so  kindly  true. 
'Tis  thus  with  Nature,  thus  with  Man  : 

The  earthquake's  shock,  quick  'tis  o'er  ; 
Vehement  passions  soon  react, 

And  smiles  succeed  the  tempest's  roar. 

*  A  historical  fact. 


56  WILLIAM  PENN'S  HOLY  EXPERIMENT. 

PART   II. 

The  sheriff  brought  his  prisoner  forth, 
The  jury  was  impanelled  and  arrayed, 

And  in  the  form  of  English  law 
The  clerk  the  indictment  read. 

"  Prisoner,  stand  forth  !     Is  your  name  Penn?" 
Inquired  the  judge,  with  features  stern. 

"  Since  thus  my  lot  in  life  hath  changed," 

Said  Penn,  with  manner  firm, 
"  It  hath  thy  memory  much  deranged." 

"  I  know  you  not,  nor  do  I  wish  to  know 

Such  as  you,  that  grovel  in  the  earth. 
Your  father,  Admiral  Penn,  right  well,  I  know, 

Did  rue  the  day  that  gave  you  birth. 
You  dishonored  and  disgraced  his  name, — 

Your  father's  name,  a  name  of  worth, —    • 
And  seek  to  tarnish  England's  fame, 

The  land  that  gave  you  birth." 

"  Who  constituted  thou  both  judge 

And  counsel  'gainst  the  accused  ? 
I  call  upon  the  jury,  who  are  my  peers, 

To  be  not  from  the  right  seduced. 
My  cause  is  the  cause  of  every  Englishman ; 

Your  cause,  whate'er  your  creed  ! 
I  affirm  to  you,  my  countrymen, 

That  I  am  innocent,  in  word,  in  deed, 
In  intention,  act,  or  utterance. 

I  am  utterly  incapable  of  doing  aught 
That  would  our  English  name  disgrace ; 

Not  so  much  as  by  the  slightest  thought 
Would  I  upon  it  bring  dishonor  or  reproach. 

It  cannot  be  that  it  offends 


WILLIAM  PENN'S  HOLY  EXPERIMENT.  57 

The  majesty  of  our  laws  to  worship  God  ! 

For  this  I  sought  to  meet  my  friends, 
Assembling  orderly,  peacefully,  sedately, 

Nor  in  the  least  degree  tumultuously, 
As  in  that  false  indictment  charged ; 

But  decently,  soberly,  not  seditiously, 
We  assembled,  and  with  grateful  hearts 

Sincerely  offered  thanks  to  heaven 
For  the  many  gifts,  unmerited,  conferred, 

For  the  blessings  daily,  hourly  given." 

"Sirrah  !"  said  the  judge,  with  angry  tone, 

"You  shall  not  be  permitted  thus  to  plead, 
With  cunning  tongue  and  utterance  false, 

The  jury  seeking  to  mislead. 
'Tis  not  for  worshipping  God  you're  tried, 

But  for  wandering  without  the  bounds 
Which  law  and  custom  hath  ordained. 

In  company  with  unmannered  clowns, 
You  seek  to  gain  some  notoriety. 

For  shame  !  a  man  of  your  estate 
To  set  such  vile  example, — 

To  cast  discredit  on  the  church  and  state  !" 

"  I  affirm  that  I  have  no  law  broken. 

'Tis  as  clear  a  case  of  tyranny 
As  e'er  disgraced  our  native  land, 

Of  persecution  and  of  bigotry. 
And  I  firmly  stand  upon  my  rights, 

As  secured  in  our  great  charter  ; 
Nor  will  I  yield  them  up  to  might, 

Tho'  I  may  suffer  as  a  martyr 
In  the  cause  of  truth  and  right. 

My  countrymen,  in  times  of  yore 
Our  fathers  suffered  much  for  conscience ; 

Many  were  the  persecutions  sore  they  bore 


58  WILLIAM  PENN'S  HOLY  EXPERIMENT. 

From  tyrant,  from  papist,  and  from  pope. 

Again,  I  fear,  our  eyes  may  gaze, 
And  history  mark  another  page, 

As  in  those  fearful,  bloody  days. 
Let  Persecution  have  her  horrid  sway, 

Make  it  a  crime  to  speak  and  think, 
Then  Bigotry  will  rule  this  land, 

And  all  our  rights  in  darkness  sink, 
Our  families  ruined  and  our  children  'slaved. 

Base-born  informers  in  the  light  of  day 
Will  gladly  revel  in  ill-gotten  gains  ; 

Our  rights  would  vanish,  be  explained  away, 
And  Justice  seek  more  congenial  skies. 

Superstition  will  the  land  control, 
New  schemes  invent,  old  tortures  ply, 

Thought  to  fetter  and  to  bind  the  soul, 
To  stifle  Freedom  in  her  island  home  ! 

Seeking  to  erase  from  English  hearts 
By  means  imported  o'er  the  seas — 

By  crafty  stealth,  by  priestly  arts— - 
Our  nation's  glory,  our  island's  boast  ! 

The  Inquisition,  as  in  times  of  yore, 
Will  rear  its  blood-stained  crest, 

And  Britain's  sons  will  bleed  at  every  pore. 

0  !  from  the  land  such  noxious  weeds  efface. 
Let  toleration,  like  the  orb  of  day, 

Irradiate  each  heart  and  glow  in  every  face, 
Illuming  with  its  bright  protecting  ray 

The  heaths  and  homes  of  native  land. 
Such  day  will  dawn  ;  I  see  it  breaking  ! 

1  see  intolerance,  with  her  hideous  band, 

Shame-faced,  our  shores  forsaking." 

"  'Tis  said  the  pen  is  mighty,"  quoth  the  judge, 
"But  your  tongue,  fellow,  hath  no  end. 


WILLIAM  PENN'S  HOL  Y  EXPERIMENT. 

Tho'  'gainst  you  I  have  no  grudge, 

Yet  by  your  discourse  you  so  rend 
And  pervert  the  truth  by  falsehood 

That  you  our  patience  doth  exhaust. 
Your  remarks  most  plainly  show 

That  to  sense  and  reason  you  are  lost, 
And  I  charge  and  warn  the  jury 

Not  to  credit  such  vile  fanaticism. 
Rather  let  them  look  to  England's  good, — 

How  the  church  is  rent  with  schism, 
How  the  laws  by  wild  fanatics, 

By  these  ranting,  canting  heretics, 
Are  perverted  and  abused. 

See  you  teach  such  whining  lunatics, 
Preaching  doctrines  foolish  and  absurd, 

That  the  law  hath  yet  a  might, 
And  English  juries  some  respect 

For  order,  custom,  and  for  right !" 

"  Not  guilty  !"  was  the  verdict  rendered. 

And  tho'  the  judge,  with  fierce  invective, 
Blustered,  stormed,  and  threatened, 

Evincing  malice  vile,  vindictive, 
Still  the  jury  firm  remained, 

And,  as  verdict  just  and  true, 
"  Not  guilty  !"  they  again  returned, — 

Yes,  thrice  returned,  as  Freedom's  due. 
With  no  respect  to  this,  howe'er, 

The  judge  bore  down  the  right 
And  remanded  Penn  to  prison, 

Thus  crushing  law  with  power  and  might, 
Charging  him  with  vile  sedition, 

With  contempt  of  judge  and  court, 
With  conniving  at  high  treason. 

And  with  sarcastic  mien  and  port, 


59 


60  WILLIAM  PENN'S  HOL  Y  EXPERIMENT. 

Taunting  spoke  he  of  Penn's  mission. 

"  Sheriff!" — hear  you  the  voice  that  calls?— 
"  Let  him  with  Bunyan  be  companioned 

Within  the  stout  old  castle's  walls." 

PART    III. 

Flowing  thus  from  mighty  fountain, 

Has  the  truth  rolled  o'er 
The  ages  that  have  passed  away ; 

And  flowing  still  with  power, 
With  beauty,  and  with  might, 

Gurgling,  flowing  from  the  mountains, 
Now  resistless  in  its  course, 

Ever  fed  by  unseen  fountains, 
As  it  beautifies  the  earth  ! 

Now  it  swells  the  throbbing  tide 
Of  a  swiftly  flowing  river, 

Rolling  in  its  native  pride. 

Can  ye  bind  that  mighty  torrent, 
Strive  to  check  it  at  its  source  ? 

Bind  it  down  with  bands  of  steel, 
Fetter  it  with  might  and  force  ? 

Can  the  truth  be  thus  subdued, 
Thus  subdued  its  sweet  perfume? 

No  !  the  more  to  earth  'tis  crushed, 
The  richer,  sweeter  is  its  bloom  ! 

Let  Superstition  try  her  hand. 

Fetter  it  in  dungeons  dire, 
Smother  it  with  dread  and  fear  ; 

Burn  it  in  a  martyr's  fire, 
Ply  the  torture,  ply  the  screw  ; 

Revive  again  Torquemanda's  reign, 
Ply  that  doubly  damned  invention 

In  Religion's  sacred  name; 


WILLIAM  PENN'S  HOLY  EXPERIMENT.  6 1 

Close  the  heart  to  human  anguish, 

Demons  seeking  to  affright ; 
Call  servile  Ignorance  to  aid, — 

Hideous  is  his  brutal  might, 
Ever  Superstition's  minion, — 

With  his  buckler  and  his  shield, 
Sturdiest  champion  of  Opinion, 

Always  last  to  quit  the  field ; 
Let  King  Custom  join  your  ranks, 

With  his  mighty,  mighty  legion, — 
Reinforced  your  holy  phalanx 

From  your  famous  ally's  region. 

All  in  vain  your  legions  battle, 

All  in  vain  your  forces  fight, 
All  in  vain  your  stupid  cattle, 

Marshalled  by  their  chosen  knight. 

'Gainst  you  is  arrayed  the  Truth, 

Clad  in  radiant  armor  bright. 
Lo  !  the  conquering  legions  come  ; 

Error,  darkness  put  to  flight. 

Methinks  I  see  in  visions  bright, 

Shining  thro'  the  mists  of  time, 
Heroes  clad  in  radiant  light, 

Illuming  every  age  and  clime. 

Methinks  I  see  in  Virtue's  track 

The  gathering  storm,  the  tempest's  wrath, 

The  cross,  the  scaffold,  and  the  rack, 
The  jeering  taunt,  the  rugged  path. 

Methinks  I  see  the  path  they  trod, 

The  course  they  took  to  heaven  above, — 

The  pathway  which  leads  up  to  God, 
The  path  bestrewed  with  deeds  of  love. 
6 


62  WILLIAM  PENN'S  HOLY  EXPERIMENT. 

From  o'er  the  centuries  comes  a  voice, 

Resounding,  pealing,  loud  and  clear, 
A  voice  that  makes  the  heart  rejoice, 

Sometimes  distant,  sometimes  near. 
From  Calvary's  Mount  to  native  strand, 

In  ancient  or  in  modern  times, 
Ringing  clear  in  fatherland, 

Breaks  the  air  those  gracious  chimes. 
From  Him  whom  all  our  households  cherish 

Sound  those  chimes,  sweet  and  clear, — 
"  Truth  shall  never,  never  perish  ; 

I  am  ever,  ever  near." 

Sadly,  sadly  sound  those  chimes, 
Chanting  o'er  the  honored  dead  ; 

Chanting  of  historic  times, 
They  touch  the  heart,  those  requiems  sad. 

Mournfully,  mournfully  chants  that  tone, 
Chanting  o'er  earth's  flowery  breast, 

Chanting  o'er  from  zone  to  zone, 
Where'er  those  martyred  heroes  rest. 

Joyfully,  joyfully  peal  those  chimes, 
Pealing  forth  each  hero's  name, 

Joyfully  sounding  through  all  time, 
Sounding  loud  their  deathless  fame. 

Gently,  gently  sweeps  that  lyre, 
Unseen,  tuned  by  mystic  hand  ; 

Vibrate  those  notes,  our  souls  inspire, 
From  the  unseen  heavenly  land  !* 


*  The  sufferings  of  Friends  in  England,  and  also  in  New  England,  seem  in- 
credible from  our  present  stand-point.  After  the  Restoration,  in  1680,  it  was 
estimated  that  two  hundred  and  forty-three  persons  died  in  consequence  of 


WILLIAM  PENWS  HOL  Y  EXPERIMENT.  63 


PART  IV. 

'Twas  midnight ;  darkness  as  a  shroud 

Hung  o'er  the  land,  hung  o'er  the  seas, 
And  sleep,  tired  Nature's  soothing  balm 

From  many  a  pang  that  Fate  decrees, 
Emancipating  thought,  and  nerve  and  brain, 

From  care,  from  sorrow,  and  from  pain. 
As  Nature's  opiate  wrought  its  charm, 

And  Labor  rose  refreshed  again, 
With  mind  elastic  and  with  cheerful  heart, 

With  arm  to  strike  and  soul  to  will, 
Its  purpose  high,  and  renew  again  its  round, 

Its  daily  round,  with  pride  and  skill ! 

Behind  the  hills  had  set  the  orb  of  day, 

But  within  the  palace  walls  light, 
Life,  and  revelry  held  noisy  sway, 

And  song  and  laughter  put  to  flight 
All  thoughts  of  trouble  or  of  care  ; 

Seductive,  gentle  music  filled  the  air 
With  joyous  and  voluptuous  notes, — 

The  scene  was  wondrous,  enchanting  fair. 


their  hardships, — "having  been  so  grievously  beaten  and  wounded,  because 
of  their  frequenting  religious  assemblies,  that  they  died  of  their  hurts  and 
wounds."  In  New  England  they  were,  if  possible,  still  more  inhumanly  used  ; 
they  were  tortured,  beaten,  and  hanged. 

To  narrate  one  instance,  as  given  by  Sewel :  "  Hored  Gardner,  an  inhabi- 
tant of  Newport,  came  with  her  sucking  babe,  and  a  girl  to  carry  it,  to  Wey- 
mouth,  from  whence,  for  being  a  Quaker,  she  was  hurried  to  Boston,  where 
both  she  and  the  girl  were  whipped  with  a  threefold  knotted  whip.  After  the 
whipping,  the  woman  kneeled  down  and  prayed  the  Lord  to  forgive  those 
persecutors,  which  so  reached  a  woman  that  stood  by  that  she  said,  '  Surely 
she  could  not  have  done  this  if  it  had  not  been  by  the  spirit  of  the  Lord.'  " 


64  WILLIAM  PENN'S  HOL  Y  EXPERIMENT. 

Beauty,  with  bright  eye  and  rosy  lip, 

With  lithesome  foot  and  merry  tongue, 
And  love  forbidden  and  forbade, 

Around  the  scene  enchanted  hung, 
Stealing  like  a  deceptive  sprite, 

With  a  magic  and  enticing  smile, 
Intoxicating  with  exhilarating  draught 

Its  victims,  and  with  crafty  wile 
Alluring  to  the  broad,  elastic  river's  side, — 

If  not  to  embark  upon  the  fatal  tide, 
And  float  resistless  on  the  deceitful  stream, 

Where  barks  unnumbered  ride 
And  silken  sails  spread  to  the  breeze. 

With  measured  music  gliding  o'er 
The  water,  amid  the  ripple  and  the  spray, 

No  thought  at  first  of  that  deceptive  shore 
On  which  many  a  gallant  ship  has  stranded, 

Beguiled  from  port  by  Pleasure's  gales, 
Enticed  from  anchorage  safe  and  sure, 

Allured  by  Hope  to  spread  her  sails, 
And  driving  toward  that  fatal  shore, — 

Drifting  hopeless,  helpless  in  the  storm, 
By  gales  tempestuous  borne  along, 
Life  wrecked  and  Virtue's  anchor  gone  ! 

England's  monarch  was  seated 

Not  distant  from  this  exultant  throng, 
Clad  for  the  festival  with  pomp  and  pride ; 

He  who  spoke  with  wisdom's  tongue, 
But  often  wrought  with  foolish  deed, 

Was  with  skill  and  care  arrayed 
To  tread  the  paths  which  Pleasure  trod. 

"JSpeak  out,  be  not  afraid," 
The  merry  monarch  sportive  said  ; 

And  as  he  spoke,  with  courtly  bow, 
Withdrew  the  covering  from  his  head. 


WILLIAM  PENN'S  HOL  Y  EXPERIMENT.  65 

"  Thou  makest  jest,  Friend  Charles," 

Replied  the  Quaker. 
"Thou  knowest  that  we  Friends, 

Except  in  thanksgiving  to  our  Maker, 
Cannot,  for  conscience'  sake, 

Uncover  or  bow  to  man  the  head. 
We  mean  not  to  give  offence, 

To  appear  ill-mannered  or  ill-bred  ; 
But  think  that  empty  compliments, 

So  much  the  fashion  of  our  day, 
Savor  much  of  gross  hypocrisy, 

And  lead  the  mind  from  God  away." 

"Nay,  Friend  William, 

We  want  no  discourse  to-night," 
Good-natured  spoke  the  king, 

"  Of  faith  or  works  or  inner  light. 
Say  quickly  what  you  have  to  say, 

For  we  must  soon  be  gone ; 
Tho'  with  persuasion  you  might,  perchance, 

Join  in  the  merry,  jovial  throng  ! 
In  the  hall  above  you  hear 

The  notes  of  love  and  joy, 
The  light,  fantastic  glee  of  youth, 

The  peerless  voice  of  maiden  coy. 
Join  in  the  merry,  festive  scene, 

And  be  not  thus  estranged, — 
Join,  Friend  William,  join  the  dance  ! 

Ere  you  had  your  spleen  deranged, 
Whilst  living  'neath  the  skies  of  France, 

You  loved  to  join  in  Pleasure's  maze, 
To  mingle  in  life's  buoyant  tide, — 

You  loved  our  cheerful  English  ways. 

"  Nay,  I  forbid  !     No  discourse  to-night 

That  savors  in  the  least  of  preaching. 

6* 


66  WILLIAM  PENN'S  HOL  Y  EXPERIMENT. 

In  days  gone  by  I'd  quite  enough, 

In  Scotland's  clime,  of  pious  teaching. 
So  you're  not  satisfied,  it  seems, 

With  prisons,  buffetings,  and  blows 
On  England's  merry,  merry  shores, 

But  you  need  seek  more  savage  foes 
O'er  ocean's  stormy,  boist'rous  wave. 

Why  surely,  William,  friend, 
Those  cannibals  will  eat  you  up, 

And  limb  from  limb  will  rend 
Your  English  carcasses,  so  round  and  sleek. 

Nay  !  we'll  not  have  it  so  indeed, 
To  let  you  thus  such  dangers  face ; 

For,  though  it  be  against  your  creed, 
We'll  put  you  in  the  proper  path. 

There  can  go  as  passengers 
A  regiment  of  Oliver's  stout  old  troop. 

Take  them,  those  evil  messengers, 
Lounging  now  the  town  about ; 

They'll  pray  and  keep  their  powder  dry, 
They'll  put  your  enemies  to  rout. 

Take  them,  their  freight  we'll  pay, 
For  'twill  confer  a  favor  to  the  State 

To  send  those  rascals  o'er  the  seas  away, — 
They  also  keep  your  top-knot  on  your  pate. 

Take  them,  we  wish  you  happiness  and  joy ; 
'Twill  thus  confirm  the  saying  trite — 

You  know  it — about  the  two  birds  and  the  boy." 


"  Thou  jesteth  still,"  said  Penn. 

"  Seriously,  I  implore  thee,  incline  thy  ear 
And  patiently  listen  to  my  request. 

My  people  are  o'erborne  with  care, 
With  persecution  and  oppression  sore, 

And  we  seek  a  home  wherein  to  live 


WILLIAM  PENN'S  HOLY  EXPERIMENT.  67 

In  safety,  there  to  dwell  in  quietness  and  peace. 

And  we  humbly  pray  thee,  O  king,  to  give 
Thy  sanction  to  our  most  reasonable  request. 

The  State,  as  thou  know'st,  owed 
My  father  sixty  thousand  crowns, 

For  services  long  since  bestowed. 
Give  but  thy  grant  in  virgin  soil, — 

'Tis  all  I  ask  for  that  just  claim, — 
And  suffer  not  thy  mind  to  be  misled, 

Deceived  by  reasons  impotent  and  lame." 

"When  we  this  audience  granted," 

Said  the  king,  "  fixed  was  our  mind  ; 
Naught  since  our  thought  has  changed. 

Fear  not  that  aught  behind 
Can  e'er  the  right  or  just  o'erthrow, 

For  forthwith  without  delay  our  hand 
Shall  sign  and  seal  the  royal  charter, 

And  to  you  and  yours  convey  the  land 
For  which  you  have  petitioned, 

With  all  the  bounds  and  privileges  assign'd. 
So  thus  I  hope,  my  faithful  friend, 

That  we've  relieved  your  mind." 


PART  v. 

O'er  the  wild  waves  she  sails  gallantly  on, 

The  billows  in  gladness  they  urge  her  along ; 
Thro'  the  spray  and  the  breakers  she  dashes  away, 

The  zephyrs  float  'round  her  in  music  and  song. 
The  sunbeam  in  beauty  walks  over  the  deep, 

Folding  the  vessel  in  halo  so  bright, 
Streaming  on  pinion  that  floats  on  the  breeze 

O'er  the  fair  ocean,  that  mirror  of  light. 
Like  a  sea-bird  she  skims  on  the  salt  water's  wave. 

Aloft  the  sailor-boy  whistles  in  freedom  and  glee ; 


68  WILLIAM  PENN'S  HOL  Y  EXPERIMENT. 

He  thinks  of  his  home  on  the  far-distant  shore, 

O'er  the  wide  waters,  across  the  deep  sea. 
She  bears  in  her  bosom  naught  of  the  sorrow  of  sin  ; 

She  bears  in  her  bosom  the  hopes  of  the  free, 
Is  loaded  with  treasures  far  richer  than  gold, — 

She  is  freighted  with  blessings,  with  fair  liberty. 
The  goddess  of  freedom,  the  angel  of  peace, 

They  guarded  that  vessel ;   they  saw  from  afar 
The  germ  that  she  carried,  the  wealth  she  conveyed. 

This  they  saw  as  light  twinkles  from  yon  distant  star. 


PART   VI. 

Drop  the  anchor,  furl  the  sail ! 

Ho  !  our  sailing  now  is  o'er. 
See  the  pleasant,  pleasant  land, 

See  the  green,  inviting  shore  ! 
God  be  thank' d  for  dangers  past, 

God  be  blessed  for  joys  to  come  ! 
Far  behind  is  native  land, 

Yonder  is  our  future  home  ! 
See  the  skiffs  with  emblems  peaceful, 

Each  containing  full  a  score 
Of  those  tall  and  stalwart  red  men, 

Pushing  out  from  yon  green  shore  ! 

Now  they  cluster  round  the  vessel,* 
Clad  in  Nature's  tawny  vest, 

Waving  high  the  green  elm-branches, 
Shouting  welcome  to  their  guest. 

All  Nature  echoes  welcome  !    welcome  ! 
The  waves  that  strike  the  vessel's  side, 


*  William  Penn  says  the  air  smelled  as  sweet  as  a  garden  in  bloom.  As 
they  sailed  up  the  river  they  received  visits  and  invitations  from  the  inhab- 
itants. 


WILLIAM  PENN'S  HOL  Y  EXPERIMENT.  69 

Floating  seaward  in  their  course. 

Welcome  !  throbs  the  gurgling  tide, 
As  the  waters  onward,  onward  glide. 

The  warbling  songsters  of  the  grove 
Prolong  with  sweetest  strains, — 

They  seem'd  as  envoys  from  above  ! 
Not  in  Ark  in  time  of  flood 

Did  message  brought  by  beak  of  dove 
Convey  more  joyous  token. 

As  theirs,  our  souls  were  filled  with  love  ; 
No  more  their  hearts  rejoiced  than  ours, 

Just  off  the  stormy  ocean, 
Where  passed  the  dreary,  dreary  hours 

In  one  unvaried,  changeless  motion. 
Joyous  is  the  sight  of  land 

When  off  the  stormy  sea; 
Joyous  to  the  sea-bound  heart 

Is  then  the  flow'ry  lea. 
Joyful  are  the  thoughts  of  home, 

Twinkling  o'er  the  ocean  far; 
In  every  heart  Home's  ray  of  love 

Shines  like  a  radiant  star. 
In  the  palace,  in  the  cot, 

Universal  glows  that  flame, 
Proclaiming  loud  in  Nature's  voice, 

All  o'er  the  world  is  man  the  same, 
All  o'er  does  love  most  potent  reign. 

From  burning  sand  to  dreary  waste, 
It  girts  the  earth  with  magic  chain, 

From  north  to  south,  from  east  to  west ! 

PART   VII. 

Beneath  a  broad,  umbrageous  elm 

Upon  the  gentle  river's  bank, 
Seated  in  half-moon  upon  the  ground, 

Grouped  as- they  ranged  in  rank, 


7o  WILLIAM  PENATS  HOL  Y  EXPERIMENT. 

The  chiefs  were  gravely  circled  round 

The  great  and  generous  Tammany,* 
Who,  above  the  rest,  on  grassy  mound 

Was  seated, — king  of  warriors  free, 
King  elect  by  voice  of  braves, 

King  chosen  for  his  noble  mind. 
The  squaws  and  younglings  of  the  tribe 

In  silent  wonder  sat  behind. 
The  council-fire  in  front  blazed  bright, 

Friendship's  emblem  true  and  just, 
For  thus  the  red  man  lights  the  fire, — 

'Tis  said  to  burn  distrust. 

With  grave  and  thoughtful  mien 

The  strangers  slow  advance. 
Before  is  Penn,  with  sash  of  blue, 

With  kind  and  genial  glance. 

Tammany,  with  grace,  extends  his  hand, 

And  with  eager,  piercing  ken 
He  met  that  frank  and  manly  glance, 

In  which  sincerity  was  seen. 
The  warrior  read  with  instinct  true, 

Read  with  unerring  Nature's  eye, 
As  ray  of  light  flits  through  the  mist, 

As  lightning  flashes  o'er  the  sky. 


*  Tammany  was  greatly  venerated  by  the  Indians,  and  though  the  whites 
canonized  him  St.  Tammany,  but  little  has  been  preserved  concerning  him. 
All  we  know,  says  Heckewelder,  is  that  he  was  an  ancient  Delaware  chief 
who  never  had  his  equal.  His  mark  is  affixed  to  a  deed  dated  2$d  day  of 
Fourth  month,  1683. 

His  name  signifies  "  the  affable,"  and  he  was  greatly  esteemed  as  a  prophet- 
sage.  Jt  was  no  doubt  through  his  influence  that  peace  was  preserved  so  long 
in  Pennsylvania,  not  only  between  the  Indians  and  settlers,  but  also  be- 
tween the  Indians  themselves,  as  he  was  emphatically  a  man  of  peace.  Tam- 
many is  said  to  have  resided  at  Shackamaxon,  and  to  have  been  buried  on  the 
banks  of  the  Neshaminy. 


WILLIAM  PENN'S  HOLY  EXPERIMENT. 

"  Welcome,  brothers  !  welcome  to  our  shores  !" 

Sedately  spoke  the  king. 
"We  meet  by  council-fire  to-day 

To  hear  what  tidings  you  may  bring 
From  o'er  the  waters  far,  far  away. 

We  listen,  brothers,  with  attentive  ear. 
Speak,  and  keep  naught  back  ; 

Speak,  you've  naught  to  fear!" 


"  Your  greeting,  brother,  has  touched  the  chord 

Of  sympathy,"  said  Penn,  struggling  to  suppress 
The  feeling  upgushing  in  his  heart. 

"Brothers,  fathers,  words  can  ne'er  express 
The  thoughts  that  echo  through  my  mind. 

Brothers,  that  great  Almighty  Being, 
He  who  formed  the  earth,  the  heavens  above, 

The  Wondrous,  the  Glorious,  the  All-Seeing; 
He  whom  you  call  Great  Manitou  ; 

He  who  hath  written  on  those  stars  above, 
And  on  the  earth  beneath  our  feet, — 

He  there  hath  written  of  His  marvellous  love 
Not  only  on  the  sun  and  earth  without, 

But  also  on  the  soul  within, — 
'Tis  this  all-speaking,  universal  voice 

That  makes  the  world  all  o'er  akin. 
That  same  Great  Spirit  whom  you  worship, 

Brothers,  we  likewise  Him  adore  ! 
Listen,  brothers  !     'Twas  for  the  love  of  Him 

That  we  have  sought  your  shore, 
That  we  with  you  might  find  a  home 

Wherein  to  dwell  in  love  and  peace. 
Brothers,  we  cannot  use  .the  sword  ; 

From  war  our  God  hath  bid  us  cease, 
And  would  have  us  cultivate 

Here  in  your  beauteous  land 


72  WILLIAM  PEJVN'S  HOLY  EXPERIMENT. 

The  arts  of  peace  and  usefulness, — 

Those  arts  which  yield  with  bounteous  hand 

And  bless  mankind  with  plenty. 

And,  oh !  brothers,  may  we  remember  ever, 

As  children  of  the  God  omnipotent, 

The  bond  which  binds  our  hearts  together!" 


When  Penn  his  address  concluded, 

With  great  sedateness  Tammany  spoke  : 
"  Fathers,  to  Brother  Onas  we  have  hearkened. 

As  from  yon  council-fire  curls  up  the  smoke 
To  heaven,  so  have  our  brother's  weighty  words 

Ascended  to  the  Spirit  great  and  good. 
To  us  they  have  been  more  than  council -fire, — 

They've  been  as  life,  and  heat,  and  food. 
Brother,  with  understanding  you  discourse. 

When  on  this  mission  you  were  sent 
Across  the  sounding,  surging  ocean, 

Some  good  design  was  doubtless  meant, 
Some  plan  unseen  to  mortal  ken. 

To  God's  decree  we  humbly  bend. 
Tho'  on  those  shores  our  fathers  lie, 

Yet  westward  on  our  way  we'll  wend, — 
To  the  west  our  lands  are  bounded  by  the  sun  ! 

The  red  man,  brother,  you  may  trust ; 
For  while  the  creeks  and  rivers  run 

The  chain  that  binds  us  ne'er  shall  rust. 
While  the  sun,  the  moon,  the  stars  endure, 

This  treaty,  made  beside  yon  glist'ning  stream, 
Shall  by  our  children's  children  sacred  be; 

And  in  the  future  it  shall  brightly  gleam, 
And  shine  afar  o'er  ages  in  the  coming  time  ! 

Brothers,  many  years  long  past  away, 
A  prophet-sage,  beside  this  stream, 

Saw  in  the  visions  to  the  dawning  day. 


WILLIAM  PENWS  HOL  Y  EXPERIMENT.  73 

He  dreamed,  yet  it  was  not  a  dream : 

He  saw  the  stranger  o'er  the  bounding  sea ; 

He  saw  the  red  man  leave  this  shore  ! 
To  Fate  we  bend — 'tis  God's  decree  !"* 

PART   VIII. 

Two  hundred  years  !     Two  hundred  years 

Have  lapsed  in  pulse  of  time  ! 
That  treaty  made  'neath  elm-tree's  shade, f 

"Tis  known  in  every  clime. 
To  red  men  on  the  Western  plain 

Tradition  hath  transmitted ; 
The  knowledge  of  that  treaty's  fame 

From  Indian  hath  not  flitted. 
Whilst  skimming  o'er  Ontario's  wave, 

Or  where  Pacific's  surges  lave, 
Transmitted  forth  from  sire  to  son 

As  legacy,  each  warrior  gave 
The  honored  name  of  William  Penn, — 

The  man  of  peace,  the  Indian's  friend, 
Whose  loving  faith  in  brother  man 

Was  steadfast  to  the  end. 

*  It  was  a  current  tradition  among  the  Indians  two  hundred  years  ago  that 
a  race  of  men  from  over  the  sea  would  dispossess  them  of  their  lands. 

f  Never,  says  Heckewelder,  will  the  Delawares  forget  their  elder  brother 
Mignon,  as  they  affectionately  and  respectfully  call  him.  Between  the  years, 
he  says,  1770  and  1780,  they  could  relate  very  minutely  what  had  passed  be- 
tween William  Penn  and  their  forefathers  at  their  first  meeting  and  after- 
wards. 

This  first  meeting  in  1682  was  evidently  a  "  league  of  friendship,"  which 
was  repeated  and  confirmed  afterwards.  It  was  frequently  alluded  to  at  the 
different  meetings  between  the  Indians  and  the  government  of  the  Proprietor, 
as  the  records  show.  James  Logan  frequently  alluded  to  that  special  treaty. 
On  the  I4th  of  Third  month,  1721-22,  he  speaks  of  that  "  firm  peace  and 
league  in  these  parts  near  forty  years  ago.''  At  Conestoga,  he  speaks  of  it  as 

"league  of  friendship  and  brotherhood  with  all  the  Indians  then  in  these 
parts,  and  agreed  that  both  you  and  his  people  should  be  all  as  one  flesh  and 
blood." 

7 


74 


WILLIAM  PENN'S  HOL  Y  EXPERIMENT. 

Two  hundred  years  !     Two  hundred  years  ! 

What  might  they  not  have  been, 
If  that  great  faith  in  brother  man 

That  throbbed  in  heart  of  Penn 
Had  throbbed  in  all  mankind? 

What  dreadful  wars,  what  horrid  din, 
The  sabre's  stroke,  the  tyrant's  yoke, 

The  seas  of  blood,  all  black  with  sin, 
The  bursting  bomb  that  rent  the  air, 

And  marked  its  track  with  death  ! 
Fond  woman's  grief,  strong  man's  despair, 

The  soldier's  shout,  the  cannon's  breath, 
Hot  with  its  murderous  vapor, 

The  maddened  thrust  of  maddened  men, 
The  rending  groan,  the  frenzied  prayer, — 

All  this,  all  this  those  years  have  seen  ! 

Might  have  been  !     O  words  abhorred  ! 

Ah !  man  has  deafened  voice  within, 
And  shocked  with  sounds  discordant, 

O'erwhelming  rude  with  crimson  sin  ; 
Have  idols  reared  and  worshipping. 

Conscience,  driven  from  her  throne, 
Patient  sits  with  eyes  o'erflown, 

Deserted,  widowed,  and  alone  ! 
Paradisic  might  have  been  the  world, 

Use  and  Beauty  have  united  wrought, 
Adorned  our  earth  with  gems  impearled. 

O  Man  !  who  hath  the  treason  taught, — 
For  thou  alone  the  work  hath  marr'd, — 

Without  thou  hear'st  gentle  harmonies, 
Within  with  deadly  treason  thou  hast  warr'd 

Against  the  heavenly  symphonies. 

Two  hundred  years  !     Two  hundred  years ! 
By  rolling  river's  side, 


WILLIAM  PEJVN'S  HOLY  EXPERIMENT.  75 

In  strength  and  beauty  it  appears, 

In  glory  and  in  pride. 
The  seeds  of  Freedom  sown  by  Penn 

Struck  deep  in  fertile  ground  ; 
A  strong  and  stalwart  tree  is  seen, 

A  nation  great  is  spread  around  ! 
More  glorious  than  the  Pilgrims'  shrine, 

Its  record  free  from  every  stain, 
No  crimson  blush  of  conscious  shame 

Mantles  Pennsylvania's  fame. 
TOLERATION  reared  her  ^Egis  high, 

Inscribing  first  on  Freedom's  scroll, 
Protecting  every  sect  and  creed, 

Securing  freedom  to  the  soul. 

Two  hundred  years  !     Two  hundred  years  ! 

On  English  soil  is  the  Founder's  tomb ; 
His  spirit's  passed  to  heavenly  spheres, 

Where  flowers  immortal  bloom. 
And  that  word  he  taught  by  lip  and  pen, 

Of  spirit  power  and  life, 
Is  needed  in  these  present  days 

Of  selfish  aim  and  strife. 
Yes,  that  lucid  calm  of  sweet  content, 

As  lived  by  William  Penn, 
Is  needed  in  this  restless  age, 

Is  needed  now  as  then, 
That  life's  great  battle  may  be  won, 

That  PEACE  may  crown  the  end, 
And  conquest  o'er  material  aims 

The  closing  scene  attend. 


AT    OCEAN'S    SIDE. 

I  SIT  beside  the  Ocean's  side 
And  note  each  overflow, 
As  the  wavelets  to  and  fro 
Move  in  concert  with  the  tide. 

With  the  pulses  of  the  deep 
Rhythmic  motion  thus  they  keep, 
Every  wavelet  being  one, 
As  is  all  beneath  the  sun. 

Every  star  which  shines  afar 
Moves  in  rhythm  as  they  blend, 
Each  with  all,  without  an  end, 
.  Without  a  break,  without  a  jar. 

Thus  are  Nature's  motions  clear: 
Echoes  break  upon  the  ear 
From  the  depths  of  Ocean's  cave 
As  on  each  shore  its  waters  lave. 

Thus  in  every  guise  we  find  surprise, 
A  mystery  in  the  sea  ! 
All  her  movements  thus  agree, 
As  the  stars  which  greet  our  eyes. 

In  heaven  above,  in  earth  below, 
On  mountain  heights,  in  streamlet's  flow, 
A  wond'rous  harmony  is  seen, — 
A  silver  cord,  a  golden  mean. 
76 


NATURE'S    TEACHING. 


To  roam  with  Nature  through  the  groves, 

And  o'er  the  fields  and  plains, 
To  gather  roses  free  from  thorns 

In  life's  sequestered,  grassy  lanes  ! 
To  roam  with  thee,  O  Solitude, 

To  listen  to  thy  murmurs  low, 
Thy  melodies  that  thrill  the  soul 

With  gentle  numbers  as  they  flow, 
Meandering  in  their  course, 
From  some  mysterious  source  ! 

n. 

When,  by  Contemplation  led, 

With  Nature  thus  we  stray, 
What  is  it  that  inspires  the  soul 

To  soar  from  earth  away  ? 
That  lifts  the  mind,  impels  the  thought 

To  roam  thro'  other  spheres, 
As  the  eaglet,  soaring  high 

Above  life's  cares  and  fears? 
Does  some  angelic  spirit  bright 
Thus  fill  the  mind  with  mystic  light? 

m. 

Whence,  O  Solitude,  thy  inspiration? 

Do  the  anthems  of  the  mighty  past 
At  times  impress  our  souls 

With  thoughts  of  glorious  cast, 

7*  77 


7  8  NATURE'S    TEACHING. 

Sculptured  after  perfect  models? 

Or,  when  distant  from  the  haunts  of  men, 
Alone  with  Nature  by  the  sounding  sea, 

In  meadow,  grotto,  field,  or  glen, 
By  mountain-side  or  on  the  flowery  lea, 
With  thought  and  mind  and  fancy  free, 

IV. 

What  hand  sweeps  o'er  the  heart-strings, 

Attuning  all  to  sweetest  melody, 
All  sounds  discordant  hushed 

Or  changed  to  heavenly  harmony? 
Ecstatic  raptures  fill  the  mind 

And  flood  the  soul  with  joy  ; 
'Lone  peace  and  happiness  we  find, 

Without  discordancy  to  cloy 
Our  feelings,  or  with  fetters  bind 
The  thoughts  that  echo  through  the  mind. 

v. 

O  Man  !  when  thus  alone  with  Nature, 

Naught  near  but  the  unseen  air 
Sweeping  thro'  the  crimson  forests, 

Resounding  fill  thy  ear 
With  notes  of  gentle  music  ; 

Or  in  the  sweetly-scented  spring, 
As  in  a  dream  thou  goest  forth, 

Wandering  to  greet  the  day-king 
As  he  courses  on  his  flight, 
Ere  he  leaves  thee  in  the  arms  of  night. 

VI. 

And  balmy,  soft-breathed  breezes 
Fan  thy  cheek  and  wake  the  sod 

Beneath  thy  feet  to  life  and  beauty, 

And  Nature's  worship  ascendeth  unto  God 


NATURE'S    TEACHING. 

With  melody,  and  all  created  things  rejoice 
In  sunshine,  gushing  warm  and  bright, 

Whispering,  speaking  with  all-mighty  voice 
To  sun  and  earth,  Let  there  be  light ! 

And  forth  it  beams,  O  ray  sublime  ! 

That  gushes  from  a  font  divine. 

VII. 

O  Light  !•  thou  parent  of  Heat 

And  Sunshine,  'tis  in  spring-time 
That  we  prize  and  bless  thee  most. 

'Tis  then  thy  ray  sublime, 
Bright  in  its  glorious  revelation, 

As  when  God's  angel,  girt  with  light 
And  clad  with  creative  power, 

Banished  by  a  spell  of  might, 
Wafted  to  the  chambers  of  the  night, 
And  breath'd  o'er  earth  a  holy  light. 

VIII. 

Scientists  and  seers  would  track  thy  course, 

And  wander  o'er  regions  of  infinity 
To  trace  thee  to  thy  phosphoric  source, 

Ascribing  to  some  unknown  affinity 
Of  sun  and  earth  thy  marvellous  ray. 

Science  can  probe  the  earth,  and  o'er 
The  depths  of  mighty  ocean  lay 

Her  bounds  from  shore  to  shore, 
And  pour  her  voice  unceasingly 
Throughout  the  caverns  of  the  sea. 

IX. 

But  can  she  analyze  thy  piercing  glance, 
That  beam'st  forth  august,  sublime? 

Thou  smile  of  heaven,  transfusing  space, 
And  lighting  worlds  by  power  divine. 


79 


8o  NATURES    TEACHING. 

O  ray  immortal !   shadow  of  infinity  ! 

Thou  that  flittest  through  the  spheres, 
Comrade  and  compeer  of  eternity, 

By  time  unaltered,  unchanged  by  years ! 
And,  O  Man,  is  no  revelation  from  afar 
Conveyed  by  yonder  twinkling  star? 

x. 

That  thou  mayst  know  and  tell 

When  thus  alone  in  solitude, 
In  summer's  heat,  in  winter's  cold, 

Or  in  the  solemn  autumn's  quietude  ? 
When  in  the  forest's  shades  thou  roamest, 

With  bright  banners  waving  o'er  thy  head, 
Their  trophies  of  the  summer  past, 

Their  golden  banners  fringed  with  red, 
Wafting,  drifting  here  and  there, 
Streaming  in  the  autumnal  air? 

XI. 

Or  when  winter  binds  the  streams 

And  checks  their  source, 
And  northern  gales  career 

Relentless  in  their  course? 
Then  wrap  the  robes  of  winter 

'Round  thy  form  and  wander  forth, 
With  no  companion  but  the  ice-king, — 

That  despot  of  the  North, 
Who  rules  with  frigid  breath 
His  region  of  the  earth. 

XII. 

If  thy  soul  is  thus  awakened 

On  the  mountain's  height  or  ocean's  shore, 
If  in  the  war  of  elementary  strife 

Thou  hearest  music  in  the  roar 


NATURE'S   TEACHING.  8 1 

And  battle  of  the  raging  elements, — 

Gold  may  not,  perchance,  be  thine, 
Yet  thou  art  rich,  art  Nature's  child, 

Inheritor  of  gifts  sublime  ! 
Thine  are  the  mountains,  and  the  valleys  thine, 
Though  not  recorded  in  the  book  of  Time. 

XIII. 

Thy  treasures  are  immortal  treasures. 

The  narrow  and  contracted  soul 
May  see  no  use  in  God's  profuseness, 

May  hear  no  music  roll  from  pole  to  pole, 
May  sneer  at  truth  and  beauty, 

May  treasure  earth  by  what  she  yields, 
May  close  his  eye  to  Nature's  rarity, — 

The  senseless  idiot  judges  as  he  feels  ! 
His  ear  is  shut  to  that  immortal  Voice 

That  makes  thy  heart,  thy  soul  rejoice  ! 


TO   ELLEN   H.    PAUL. 

LINES   WRITTEN   ON  THE    OCCASION   OF   THE    COMMEMO- 
RATION   OF   THE   9oTH    BIRTHDAY   OF   ELLEN    H.    PAUL. 

THE  circling  years  each  other  meet, 
Unending  Time  makes  all  complete; 
In  form  and  substance  they  appear, 
Revolving  round  their  central  sphere. 
Fourscore  and  ten  !   how  great  the  span 
Which  circles  in  the  life  of  man  ! 
When  thou  wast  young  Columbia's  fame 
Was  just  baptized  in  Freedom's  name  ; 
And  dull  the  pace  and  slow  the  speed 
Of  postman  then  on  back  of  steed. 
Now  lightning  sends  the  thoughts  we  feel, 
And  coursers  swift  on  roads  of  steel 
Speed  o'er  the  land  with  quicken'd  pace, 
As  though  their  life  was  in  the  race. 
And  since  upon  thy  father's  knee 
Thou  sat,  beneath  the  spreading  tree, 
How  many  changes  Time  has  wrought ! 
The  shadowed  past,  how  full  of  thought ! 
In  early  youth  thou  wast  a  bride, — 
Yes,  dearly  loved,  thy  James's  pride. 
And  we,  his  friends  and  thine,  are  near 
This  eve  to  greet  thy  natal  year  ! 
Fourscore  and  ten  !  how  great  indeed, 
How  passing  strange  the  life  we  lead. 
82 


TO  ELLEN  H.    PAUL.  83 

How  like  a  dream  the  past  appears 

To  manhood's  prime  or  lengthened  years  ! 

I  backward  gaze  :  the  past  recalls 

A  youthful  form  who  loved  these  halls 

A  friend  of  mine — in  school-boy  days 

We  wandered  forth  'midst  Pleasure's  maze, — 

A  son  of  thine,  whose  cheery  face 

Time  and  years  can  ne'er  erase 

Whilst  time  and  reason  hold  their  place  ! 

Surrounded  thus  with  memories  sweet, 

Old  friends,  this  evening  here  we  meet. 

Eternal  mind  knows  not  of  death  ; 

She  passeth  not  with  parting  breath. 

If  so,  these  halls  of  quarried  stone 

Were  more  than  Thought  or  Reason's  throne, 

Were  more  than  Art,  which  gave  them  form. 

Not  so  our  dead  we  hopeless  mourn  ; 

For,  though  in  spirit  or  in  flesh, 

Communing  thus  we  would  refresh 

Each  heart  immersed  in  daily  care, 

Secure  each  bliss  that  each  can  bear, 

Without  e'en  grief,  without  e'en  care  ! 

Transposing  this  in  highest  sense, 

Translating  it  as  permanence, 

Let  Joy  pulsate  in  every  heart, 

With  blithesome  cheer  and  woman's  art ! 

For  thou  wast  born  in  month  of  June, 

'Midst  birdlings'  songs  of  sweetest  tune, 

In  crowning  month  of  blessed  spring, 

Whose  floral  offering  here  we  bring, 

Blest  flowers,  all  radiant  in  their  bloom, 

Breathing  low  their  sweet  perfume, — 

Rose  and  orange  freshly  blown 

Since  the  morning  sun  hath  shone. 

Thus  flow'rets  wreathe  thy  years  with  joy, 

Thy  ninety  years  without  alloy  ! 


THE    "BOSTON."* 

A  WIFE'S  VISION. 

I  STRAIN  my  eyes  across  the  deep, 
I  listen  as  each  courier  rings, 
And  hope  the  tidings  that  he  brings 

With  joy  may  make  my  pulses  leap. 

I  listened  with  a  hope  deferred 

To  catch  some  tidings  from  the  brave 
Who  sailed  athwart  the  eastern  wave. 

Alas  !  my  heart  with  fear  is  stirred. 

As  every  rumor  from  afar, 

Each  breath  from  off  the  stormy  sea, 

Alas  !  alas  !  they  all  agree, 
And  every  gleam  of  hope  they  mar. 

My  children  ask  with  tearful  eye 
The  fearful  question,  Will  he  come 
And  cheer  again  a  happy  home  ? 

Alas  !  each  shadow  sailing  by 


*The  loss  of  the  "Boston"  created,  at  the  time,  a  profound  impression. 
She  sailed  from  Glasgow,  and  was  never  heard  of  afterwards.     It  is  supposed 
that  she  was  wrecked  by  icebergs. 
84 


THE   "BOSTON."  85 

O'er  my  heart  their  terrors  cast, — 
I  feel  the  iceberg's  chilling  breath. 

0  God  !  it  was  a  fearful  death, 
In  ocean's  solitudes  so  vast. 

Not  always  thus,  for  yesternight 
A  vision  gleamed  upon  my  sight 
With  a  subdued  and  mellowed  light, 

And  clearer  than  the  noonday  bright. 

A  bark  with  spreading  sail  I  saw; 

1  heard  the  sailors'  cheerful  note, 

The  welcome  from  the  cannon's  throat, 
And  woke  amid  the  loud  huzza ! 


THE    LIGHT     OF     LIFE. 

COMMUNE  with  me,  transcendent  guest; 
For  thou  hast  promised  as  reward, — 
As  to  disciple  from  his  Lord, — 

That  all  are  doubly  blessed 

Who  seek,  as  Grecian  Socrates, 

Thy  gift  of  inward  light. 

For  sweetness,  pure  and  bright, 
Blend  with  thy  philosophies. 

O  calm  and  tranquil  light ! 
Which  flows  from  blissful  sea, 
Flow  on  so  great  and  free, 

From  sunlit  fountain  bright, 

That  all  the  world  may  learn 
Thy  power  to  bless  and  save, 
As  ship  on  ocean's  crested  wave 

To  Master's  hand  doth  turn. 

Thou  blessed  hope  of  all  mankind, 
Attuned  to  Reason's  voice  ! 
For  all  may  make  their  choice, 

And  way  to  Life  may  find. 

Eternal  beacon  on  the  shore 
Of  Time's  relentless  wave, 
Where  frosted  waters  curling  lave 
With  an  uneasy  roar. 
86 


THE  LIGHT  OF  LIFE.  87 

But  through  the  darkness  and  the  din 
Still  shines  that  beacon-light, 
Through  the  mist  and  gloom  of  night, 

Responsive  to  a  voice  within. 

Another  voice  of  love  and,  cheer 

The  listening  ear  hath  heard  ; 

In  blending  Oneness  to  the  Word 
'Tis  found,  distinct  and  clear. 


THIS    IS     NO     DEATH. 

THIS  is  no  death.     The  sun  goes  down  behind  the  western 
hills 

In  beauty  and  in  grandeur,  and  in  brightness  clad. 
So  rests,  so  sinks  the  soul  that  trusts  in  God.     His  will  it 
wills,- 

And,  like  the  sun,  again  shall  rise,  and  making  glad 
With  sheen  effulgent,  with  loveliest  and  with  fairest  zone  ! 

Yes,  like  the  sun,  immortal,  with  career  of  light, 
Thy  course,  O  soul  that  trusts  in  God  alone, 

Shall  be  as  one  who  walks  by  faith  and  not  by  sight. 

This  is  no  death.     God's  law  perfects  the  soul  that  loveth 

Him, 

And  lifts  him  into  fairer,  nobler  scenes  of  love  and  joy, 
Where  angels  and  where  seraphs  breathe  the  song  of  praise 

and  hymn 
In  notes  celestial,  in  anthem  without  alloy  ! 

Then  move  our  souls,  O  Father,  "  with  divine  unrest!" 

For,  as  one  of  oldU  hath  said,  no  power  we  know 
Save  Thine  to  fill  us  with  the  holiest  and  the  best, 

No  power  save  Thine  alone  aside  can  throw 
Time's  burden  of  distress.     Pressed  down  are  we  with  care 

At  times,  with  sorrow,  and  with  groundless  fear ; 
And,  though  the  sky  above  is  now  so  fair  and  bright, 

To-morrow's  sun   may   find  us  with  a   listless   sense  and 
deafened  ear 

*  ^Eschylus,  B.C.  500. 


THIS  IS  NO  DEATH.  gg 

To  all  harmonious  sounds,   and  weaken'd  eye  see  not  the 

light 
Of  Thy  effulgent  grace  and  truth.     Thus,  thus  we  learn  to 

walk  the  way 

Of  right,  and  not  of  strength  or  wealth,  or  power  or  might 
Of  man.     'Tis  thus  we  learn  to  want,  to  wait,  to  watch,  to 
pray. 

Thus  rest  doth  come,  sweet  rest !  the  rest  of  Faith  and  Hope. 

Victorious  thus  o'er  Death  ;  no  more  oppressed 
With  strife,  of  loss  or  gain.     Thus  can  we  cope 

With  .our  dread  foe,  thus  be  at  rest ! 


TO    M.    AND   R. 

OF  a  fourfold  love  secure, 
Dearest  children,  you  are  sure, — 
Father,  mother,  always  near, 
Guarding  you  from  every  fear. 

And  grandma,  too,  with  love  imbued, 
Securing  you  from  tempests  rude ; 
Her  faithful  heart  and  watchful  eye, 
A  tender  love,  is  ever  nigh. 

Thus,  beneath  the  same  home-tree, 
May  heart,  and  hand,  and  mind  agree, 
That  love  abound  and  discord  flee, 
In  harmony  and  melody. 

And  tho'  the  year  just  passed  away 
Has  palled  the  sight  with  mantle  gray  ; 
A  cheery  glance  that  met  its  dawn, 
A  loving  smile  and  voice  is  gone  ! 

An  aching  void  is  left  behind 
In  every  heart,  in  every  mind. 
Dearest  children,  this  we  mourn. 
Thus  in  life  and  love  we  learn 

To  place  our  hopes  beyond  the  grave, — 
To  trust  in  grace,  its  power  to  save, 
That  we  may  meet  with  those  above 
^     Again  in  courts  of  heavenly  love. 
90 


LINCOLN    AND    LIBERTY. 

LINES    WRITTEN     ON     HEARING    THAT    CALIFORNIA     HAD 
VOTED   FOR   LINCOLN   IN   1864. 

FROM  where  the  placid  Delaware  winds  onward  in  its  course, 
To  where  Niagara's  waters  flow  with  their  resistless  force; 
From  where  New  England's  stalwart  sons,  amidst  the  woods 

of  Maine, 
The  axe  rings  forth  the  anthem,  rings  forth  the  glad  refrain  ! 

The  miner  in  the  land  of  Penn,  the  boatman  at  the  oar, 
The  farmer  in  the  teeming  West,  among  his  garnered  store, 
The  sailor  on  the  ocean,  amidst  the  surging  sea, 
All,  all  have  caught  the  glad  acclaim, — LINCOLN   and  LIB- 
ERTY ! 

And  where  Columbia's  patriot  sons  encamp  at  Richmond's 
gate, 

Their  every  shot  and  every  shell  proclaim  the  voice  of  fate  ! 

"The  slave's  dull  ear"  has  caught  the  note,  the  anthem  of 
the  free, 

As  Dahlgren's  wice  pronounces  clear, — LINCOLN  and  LIB- 
ERTY ! 

'Twas  thus  along  our  country's  shore  from  heart  to  heart  it 

flew ; 
The  lightning's  wing  conveyed  the  news  that  gladdened  not  a 

few. 


92 


LINCOLN  AND  LIBERTY. 


All  o'er  the  land,  from  lake  to  gulf,  responsive  thrilled  each 

breast, — 
From   North   to  South,   from  sea  *to  sea,  and  in  the  "  fair 

young  West." 

And  o'er  Pacific's  gentle  wave,  far  toward  the  setting  sun, 
From   where   the  sands  with  gold   are    mixed,   and    silvery 

waters  run ; 
From  where  Nevada  rears  his  head,  and   Winter's  chaplet 

crowns ; 
Where   Nature,   both  in  mount  and   tree,   in   giant  growth 

abounds, — 

There,  in  that  land  where  Broderick  lived,  there  where  he 

fought  and  fell, 
In  Freedom's  ranks  his  friends  have  ranged,  and  Freedom's 

cohorts  swell  ! 
The  tide  from   out  the  Golden  Gate  is   ebbing  toward  the 

sea ; 
Amidst  the  shrouds  the  sailor  sings, — LINCOLN  and  LIBERTY  ! 


TO    THE     COMET     OF     1882. 

"  Earth  shook,  red  meteors  flashed  along  the  sky, 
And  conscious  Nature  shuddered  at  the  cry." — Campbell. 

WHAT  portent  dire  dost  thou  inspire? 

Forebodest  danger  ? 
Where  thy  altar,  whence  thy  fire, 

Mysterious  stranger? 

Comest  thou  in  mirth  to  greet  the  earth 

As  rocket  through  the  sky  ? 

Or  is  it  wrath  that  gave  thee  birth, — 

Vengeance  from  on  high  ? 

In  these,  our  times,  must  man's  fell  crimes 
In  channels  backward  flow? 

Art  thou  as  knell  to  chant  the  chimes 

Of  pestilence  and  woe? 

Yoke  to  thy  car.      "  Is't  rampant  war?" 
Foretell'st  of  the  time 

That  seers  have  seen  in  visions  far, 

When  man  was  ripe  with  crime? 

Nay  !  earth  is  not  by  heaven  forgot ; 

God's  blessings  onward  flow, 
And  man  has  much  yet  in  his  lot 

Of  happiness  below. 

93 


94 


TO    THE   COMET  OF  1882. 

Yon  star,  which  flew  with  radiant  hue 
The  spheres  among, 

Of  time  foretold  which  man  shall  view 

That  poet-peasant  sung, — 

"  That  sense  and  worth  o'er  a'  the  earth" 
Shall  be  enthroned, 

And  vice  and  crime,  where'er  their  birth, 
Shall  be  disowned. 


LINES 

DEDICATED  TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  PEMBERTON  HALLO- 
WELL,  WHOSE  REMAINS  LIE  INTERRED  IN  THE  ABING- 
TON  FRIEND'S  GRAVEYARD. 

THERE,  in  the  shade  of  that  gigantic  tree 

Which  rears  its  branches  to  the  sky, 
There,  'neath  the  sod  and  fragrant  lea, 

With  tears  sincere  and  heartfelt  sigh, 

We  laid  thee  there,  without  one  word 

By  priest  or  prophet  spoken  : 
Affection's  sigh  was  only  heard, — 

A  mute  but  fitting  token. 

Friend  of  my  youth,  we  gave  to  thee 

No  costly  tomb  or  lettered  urn, 
Naught  but  the  sod  and  spreading  tree, 

The  simple  stone  and  ripened  fern. 

What  need  we  more?     "  Can  animated  bust 
Back  to  its  mansion  call  the  fleeting  breath?" 

What  need  we  more  than  filial  trust 
To  meet  the  messenger  of  death  ? 

What  more  than  this  can  creed  impart 

To  that  which  God  has  given  ? 
No  monkish  faith  or  priestly  art 

Can  bar  the  path  to  heaven. 

95 


NOVEMBER'S    IDES. 

(1868.) 

O  PATRIOT  sons  of  patriot  sires, 
Breathe  in  our  souls  your  fond  desires  ! 
You  strove  to  save  from  traitorous  foes 
Columbia  from  unnumbered  woes. 

And,  ye  martyred  host  on  high, 
Do  you  in  spirit  hover  nigh, 
To  touch  our  hearts  with  patriot  fire, 
Attune  our  souls  to  Freedom's  lyre  ! 

So  that  November's  thoughtless  throngs 
May  not  forget  your  countless  wrongs, 
And  that  you  trod  the  blood-stained  path 
To  save  the  land  from  righteous  wrath. 

That  blood-stained  path  where  Lyon  led, 
Where  Baker  fell  and  Lincoln  bled, — 
A  blood-stained  path  it  was,  in  truth, 
To  hoary  sire  and  generous  youth. 

And  may  the  land  you  died  to  save 
Forget  not  what  you  martyrs  gave  ! 
You  coined  your  hearts  and  gave  your  all, 
Inspired  your  thought  at  duty's  call. 
96 


NOVEMBER'S  IDES. 

For  now  beneath  September's  sky, 
When  shadows  flit  and  clouds  pass  by ; 
When  misty  vapors  wrap  us  round, 
Masking  form  and  muffling  sound  ; 

When  the  leaves  have  reached  their  prime, 
In  our  quiet  autumn  time, — 
Now  the  fitting  time  for  thought, 
By  the  ripening  seasons  brought. 

So  may  our  country's  crisis  near 
Bring  to  the  freedman's  heart  no  fear, 
But  hope  and  joy  in  every  eye 
As  blithely  past  the  tidings  fly. 

From  lake  to  lake  to  ocean's  wave, 
Where  the  chafing  waters  lave  ; 
From  Mississippi's  ceaseless  font 
To  the  mountains  of  Vermont ; 

From  the  Gulf  to  Golden  Gate, 
All  o'er  the  land,  from  State  to  State, 
Conveyed  by  magic  flame  aslant, 
Ablaze  with  light,  the  name  of  GRANT  ! 


97 


TO    THE    MEMORY    OF    C.    HOWARD 
COMLY. 

IN  the  spring-time  of  life, 

When  existence  is  joy, 
When  Hope  fills  the  heart 

Without  an  alloy  ; 

When  each  pulse  is  a  throb 

Of  youthful  delight, 
When  unconscious  of  aught 

That  can  sully  or  blight ; 

When  friend  and  acquaintance 

Were  hopeful  of  thee, 
Ah  !  who  of  the  present 

This  end  could  foresee  ? 

Thou  comest,  O  Death  ! 

With  thy  scythe  and  thy  dart, 
Wounding  and  crushing 

And  wrenching  apart. 

O  sorrow,  how  deep  ! 

For  the  living  we  mourn, 
For  hearts  that  are  weary, 

With  anguish  o'erborne. 
98 


TO    THE   MEMORY  OF  C.  HOWARD   COMLY.         99 

For  thee,  dearest  Howard, 

In  the  haven  of  rest, 
With  naught  to  disquiet, 

With  naught  to  molest. 

Thus,  with  trust  in  our  hearts, 

With  our  hearts  we  believe. 
For  the  living  we  mourn, 

For  the  living  we  grieve. 


THE    END. 


THE 

UNIVERSE T  O.?  (  VLiPORNM 
LOS  ANGELES 


PS     Newport  - 

Pleasures  of 
Home  and  other 
poems • 


PS 


